Marital Spat
by DeviantWriter2015
Summary: The stories of wizards and witches forced into marriage. Based off First Came Marriage, by AMBERJANUS. Becomes more my story and intentions as it goes on. STORY COMPLETE.
1. Relief

AN: I like First Came Marriage, by AMBERJANUS.

Marital Spat

[1]

Ron Weasley stared at the ceiling, basking in the sun coming through the windows. He smiled, not knowing if it was actual happiness or just relief.

He was married, as the law dictated that he had to be. He'd hated the law, and he still did. But in some ways, he no longer felt like he was in a prison from which there was no escape.

[2]

The day was Tuesday in August. In and off itself nothing extraordinary. That day had been spent tracking down a rogue wizard, who went by the name Fabio Garrow. The strange name had made Ron laugh, but that laughter had dried up when he'd gone to St. Mungo's to see the man's victim.

Her name was Victoria Colson. She was 16 years old, and of African and Asian descent. Her hair was in a modest afro and she had a scar down the side of her face, diagonally. The girl had been hit with the Imperius Curse. Ron's blood had run cold...and then extremely hot.

But the nurse, Hatchet, had put his mind at ease...at least a little bit. The girl hadn't been sexually assaulted, and the scar hadn't been from an attack, but from an accident years ago.

She remembered the name of her attacker. They tracked him down to his home. Instead of a perverted man in his 30s or 40s, what they got instead was a boy even younger than Colson. Fabio was a Hogwarts student, bright but also strangely cruel. He was the family backyard, in the middle of setting his sister's hair on fire.

Harry disarmed him, and Ron paralyzed him.

"Are you Slytherin?" Ron asked him, and of course he would be, and Ron would be hit with the usual bullshit about blood purity and about how Colson was half-blood and therefore worthless. Second verse, same as the first children.

"Nope." Fabio said, to Ron's total surprise. Surprise so obvious on his face that it made Fabio laugh.

"Then why do it?"

"Why do what?"

"Don't play with me, chum." Ron said softly. "Why curse that teenage girl? Why curse your sister?"

Fabio just shrugged his shoulders.

[3]

Ron's work day ended at 8:00, which was late but still a lot earlier than what he'd expected. His wife wasn't there anyway. He didn't know why, and he honestly didn't care. Most days it was hard to care.

He got a snack from the fridge and was eating it at his desk when there was a _pop_. It was his wife in the kitchen.

Pansy Parkinson (Weasley now) was pretty—even beautiful. Her black hair flowed down to her shoulders. She wasn't pug-faced at all...so long as she wasn't scowling. And these days Ron was the only one doing any of that.

She was covered in dirt and sweat. She had gardening clothes on: a pair of overalls and an undershirt. Wrapped around her head was a blue towel. She worked at Neville's Forest.

"I gotta take a shower." she said, before he could say anything.

"Fine." he said flatly.

She came out twenty minutes later, wearing sweatpants and a clean undershirt.

"You couldn't make dinner?" she asked.

"Why should I have to make dinner?"

"You got here first." Pansy said.

"Yeah, after me and Harry caught a sociopathic wizard. It's been a long day. I had no idea he'd turn out to be a Ravenclaw."

Pansy rolled her eyes, sitting on the couch next to him. "Why? Because all bad wizards have to be in Slytherin?"

"The only Death Eater that wasn't a Slytherin was Pettigrew."

"And Greyback." Pansy argued.

"Brilliant!" Ron raised his hands into the air. "That's two to...how many Death Eaters? Five hundred?"

"Eight hundred and twenty-two." Pansy said miserably. "So we're all guilty. I'm guilty too? Is that right?"

"You tried..." Ron started, and then stopped.

Pansy tilted her head to one side. "Yes, I know Ronald; I tried to hand over Potter."

She was close to tears now. He sensed it.

"That was years ago. I even apologized to him for it. You were there. I mean, do you even care?"  
She leaned toward him on the couch.

She said: "I can't use a wand anymore, Ronald. Draco can't. Blaise can't. Daphne Greengrass and her sister can't and their family wasn't even with the Death Eaters."

"Ginny and basically _all_ my brothers petitioned the Ministry to change that."

"But you didn't, so the question remains. Do you even care?"  
Ron spoke softly: "Every single time I was picked on in Hogwarts, it was either Draco, his idiot lackeys, or you, Pansy."

Pansy looked truly wounded at that. But he kept going.

"If Riddle had won, do you know what would've happened to me? My family? Hermione? Her family? We would've had something much worse happen than our wands being taken away. You already know that."

"Well thank Merlin it didn't!" Pansy shouted. Now she was crying. "I'm glad you're not dead. I'm glad your family's okay! Sometimes I've even glad to be your wife!"

"W-what?"

"You go out and you help people! You believe in justice, which is something completely foreign to my parents. You're such a stubborn blockhead but you go out there and catch the bad wizards. Sometimes I even think I even...like you!"

Ron gaped at her. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Pansy buried her face in her hands. "But none of that matters, because I'm always just going to be a nasty bitch from Slytherin to you! You're never going to stop hating me!"

"I don't hate you!" Ron shouted back. And he really didn't. Every bit of his frustration at her was really just at this stupid marriage law. How could these people in the government just arrange marriages between two twats that really didn't even really know each other at all.

"Then prove it." Pansy said. Her face was wet with tears

"What?"

She kissed him. Kissed him hard. He put his hands on her chest by reflex and nearly pushed her. It took every ounce of his will not to push her. Had he done that, it would've been it; she would never approach him again. Their marriage would've been written in stone as a failure.

Instead he grabbed her waist and held her.

She pulled away from him. "See? Not so bad."

Ron couldn't speak. It really hadn't been. He was no great kisser. Both Lavender and Hermione said so. But what they neglected to bring up is that they weren't exactly pros themselves. Especially Hermione.

"Not bad." Ron repeated. Because he didn't know what else to say.

"In the bedroom." Pansy said, standing up.

"But—"

"Be quiet. Stand up."

He stood up obediently.

[4]

They were naked and she was on top of him.

"Pansy, I don't know-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Just trust me, for once, Ronald."

And he did.

[5]

Now it was morning, and he needed to be at work in two and a half hours. Usually it made him feel excited. But as he turned to see his wife—still sleeping, and with a rueful smile on her face—he felt sad.

He kissed her cheek. And as he did so, Pansy opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Again." she said.


	2. One Year Ago

One Year Ago

[1]

Most of them took about as long for such reconciliation. Not all of them did.

September of last year, Hermione Granger was at the Burrows, at the kitchen table. She was in tears. She couldn't stop crying. A pile of soggy tissues was piling up in front of her. The Diversity of Marriage Initiative was only two months old.

Molly Weasley was trying to say encouraging things to her. Trying extremely hard. God bless her, Merlin too and whoever else.

But Hermione couldn't take any of the encouragement to heart.

Draco Malfoy. That was her assigned husband. What kind of nonsense was that? Who on Earth would possibly think she would EVER want to be with Malfoy in a million years?

Well the Ministry of Magic...they certainly did. Fudge was gone and that was as fine as fine could be. The less she saw and heard of that pompous twit the better. But what on Earth was the reasoning behind this new policy? Forced integration? Forcing people to sit at the same table, that was one thing; marriage was quite another.

"I say, dearie, he won't insult you." Molly said. She was knitting something (she always was.) "You said it yourself he wasn't really a Death Eater."

"That was true." He was more like a slave. He could talk plenty of snot about purity and Mudbloods, but when it came time to act—when it came time to kill Dumbledore—he had even less resolve than Wormtail.

Even with the lives of his family on the line.

Suddenly, the fireplace flashed from red to green. Lucius Malfoy first, then Narcissa Malfoy.

"Hello Mrs. Weasley, Ms. Granger." Lucius bowed. Narcissa did a small curtsey. It was kind of funny. If Hermione was in a better mood, she might have even laughed.

"Hello." Hermione said. She thought about saying more, but didn't know what. So she didn't.

"I should make us all some tea." Molly said immediately. And got up to do it.

Hermione wished her parents were here. They were still in Australia. They liked it there, in spite of the high costs of living. Plus Hermione didn't trust the Malfoys, even now. Molly was here, and the matron could almost certainly out-duel them on her own. Hermione knew that now, with the way that Lestrange bitch died. All nonverbal spells too.

"I know this isn't the best circumstance." Narcissa said, sitting down. "But we should try to make the best of it."

Hermione said nothing.

"We received your Terms and Conditions, Ms. Granger. They seem more than fair. I just hope..." Narcissa's voice faded away.

"Where's that boy?" Lucius said. He hadn't sat down. He was pacing about.

The fireplace flashed green again. Out came Draco Malfoy. He forgot to duck, and cracked his head on the fireplace. Hermione even heard it and it sounded bad.

"Damn it!" he screamed.

"Draco!" Narcissa cried.

He got through, almost not ducking in time again. He clutched at his head. He stumbled into the kitchen, holding a jug of something.

"Sit down, boy." Lucius said, and guided him to a chair. "Narcissa, a healing spell please."

"No wands, Lucius. Remember?"

"I've got just the thing." Hermione said, getting her wand out. The Malfoy's tensed, except for Draco. It was just a healing spell anyway.

She got to work, while Draco lowered his head to the table, resting on it. His right hand was still holding the jug. His left hand was flat on the table.

"Draco, please say hello to Ms. Granger." Lucius said.

Draco raised his jug to Hermione. He didn't say anything. She nearly burst out laughing.

Lucius was angered: "Draco!"

"What are you drinking?" Narcissa said, scowling.

"Do you know the Muggles are REALLY good at making beer?" he asked conversationally. His voice was muffled since he was still face-down on the table.

"No, Draco, we didn't." Lucius answered.

"No, of course _we_ didn't." Draco said, and chuckled. It was a sad chuckle. "That was something the Carrows left out of the sermon."

"That's enough, Draco." Lucius said.

He raised his head to look at Hermione. "What about you Granger? You like beer? You seem like the drinking type."

Hermione didn't say anything. Draco looked awful. His eyes were red. His hair looked like Harry's, except even _more_ of a mess. Had he even been eating? He sure didn't look like it.

"Draco!" Narcissa. She raised her hand.

"Stop. Everybody stop." Molly had come back with the tea. Her tone was calm and stern. It silenced all of them.

She set the tea on the table. "Draco, to answer your question, no Hermione doesn't drink."

Draco scoffed. "Course not."

Narcissa sighed. "Draco. Now that you are here, we can go over the terms."

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "I know the terms. Don't be an a—uh...don't be a jerk. Right?"

Narcissa cleared her throat. She waved her wand, and the parchment was in front of her. "No insulting Ms. Granger. No calling her stupid, making fun of her teeth—"

"Her teeth look fine." Draco said dismissively.

 _Really?_ Hermione thought. She felt her face blush. That was stupid of course.

"Don't interrupt Draco." Lucius said.

Narcissa cleared her throat again: "No calling her a Mudblood. No—"

"That's a real laugh, considering who I learned it from."

"Stop interrupting!" Lucius shouted. His eyes blazed.

Draco laughed at that, moving a hand through his hair. "Oh Merlin, give me the strength."

"Draco, dearie." Molly said, handing him tea.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley! Didn't see you there. Thank you for the tea."

Draco sipped it. "Wow...this is...actually pretty good. Very good."

"Thank you very much. Draco, I know you're angry. Hermione is too. But I know you want to gab, but we just need you to listen, and not interrupt, for a minute or two. Okay?"

Draco looked at her, at Hermione, at all of them. He looked like he was close to crying. "Fine."

Narcissa finished speaking out the terms. No insulting Hermione's looks, her clothes, her interests, her money or lackthereof. When she was done, Draco really had nothing to say. It came as a shock to Hermione, hearing him quiet.

"Okay." He finally said.

 _That's it?_

"I think we should give them time to talk." Molly suggested. "Alone."

The look on Lucius' face and that of Narcissa made it abundantly clear that both thought it was a terrible idea.

"We'll get Hermione's wand first." Molly added, sipping tea.

And now both parents looked immensely relieved.

[2]

They were locked in awful silence for nearly eight minutes. There was just the tremendous tick of the grandfather clock, which sounded like giants taking footsteps from some nearby location. The sound was awful.

They had taken away the jug Draco had been carrying. Draco had sulked for all of two minutes. Then he surprised her. He snapped his fingers...and another jug of something appeared in his hand.

Wandless magic. And nonverbal magic. That was remarkable. Harry and Ron had always talked about how Draco was an idiot. How he used his "blood purity" as a shield for the fact that he was—in their words of course—a shit wizard.

But Draco was a decent wizard, as big of a bullying twat as he'd been. He'd fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, and none of the Trio knew how he'd done that. He knew Occulmency, and that was obviously something the Trio knew nothing about. He was no Severus Snape in that regard...but then again who was?

Hermione finally broke the silence. "Why are you drunk now?"

"I'm not drunk." Draco said, and then immediately burped.

"Right...a real treat you are." Hermione said.

"And...here we go."

"What?"

Draco took a long drink. "You're going to tell me what an ass I've been all these years right?"

"I can if you want." Hermione felt the anger coming. It started out as a slow burn, but this depressed Malfoy was getting on her nerves. What did he have to be depressed about?

"Nobody has _ever_ cared about what I wanted."

"Oh poor baby." Hermione cooed. "I know all the years of you insulting Muggle-borns has been really tough on you."

Draco looked like he'd bitten right down on a lemon. "Screw you."

That was it. She'd had it.

"You're _not_ going to talk to me like that anymore!"

"What're you going to do about it?" Draco asked with a sneer. "Hex me? Curse me?"

She thought about it, then remembered Molly Weasley took her wand. "No...I'm going to do this."

She took the tea tray and threw it at his face. His reflexes were slow, but he was able to get his hands up in time.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"That's what you get!"

He stood up. "What's your problem? I'm the one stuck with a pathetic woman for the rest of my life!"

Hermione stood up too. "And I'm the one stuck with a spoiled twat of a bully!"

There was silence after that. No sound but them breathing rapidly. Their faces were tight with anger.

"You know what? Fine I deserved that. It was a fucking joke. We said all that garbage about blood purity and we had nothing to show for it. Nothing but mountain of bodies and full cells at Azkaban." Draco sat down. He looked tired.

Hermione was moved. If you had told her three years ago that those words had come from Draco Malfoy, she would have laughed in your face.

"All of this is a joke. Like a karmic punishment or something." Draco took another drink.

Hermione shook her head. "I know this is hard for you Draco. You wanted to be with Pansy Parkinson."

Draco laughed abruptly. "Who told you that? The Quibbler?"

Hermione was shocked. "But I thought—"

"I heard how she tried to hand over Potter. In front of three Houses that basically love him. Went about as well as expected."

"Why do you care?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. But Draco didn't look wounded.

"You prats saved my ass." Draco said. "So many times I stopped counting. I didn't really love her. I never did. But when she pulled a stunt like that..."

Hermione waited.

"I knew I was never going to marry her. I just couldn't, not after that."

"Who did you fancy then?"

Draco shrugged. "Nobody really. Astoria Greengrass was kind of cute, but we didn't really know each other that well. I should've been with her anyway. But it's too late for that now. What about you? Which of your idiot friends do you like?"

Hermione blushed, not sure if she should tell Draco. But he didn't seem like he wanted to be a bully anymore. Essentially being forced to become a Death Eater, being Riddle's slave, had taken all that out of him.

"Ron."

"Sounds about right." Draco said, frowning, but with approval. "We all heard how you lost your wits when you saw him kiss that Lavender bitch. Is she dead?"

"Who, Lavender?" Hermione asked, surprised.

The next words were a struggle for Draco. He looked at the table. "I heard...Greyback..."

Hermione smiled at him. "No, she's alive."

Draco looked at her, eyes full of reluctant hope. "Really?"

"She's a werewolf now." And when she saw Draco's face fall... "No, don't worry about that Draco. Shacklebot's policies will be very anti-discriminatory."

"Werewolf." Draco said. "I turned someone into a werewolf."

"No you didn't Malfoy, and don't accuse yourself of things you had no control over. He came through the Vanishing Cabinet, yes, but he bit Lavender during—"

"I _know_ when he bit her."

"Then don't accuse yourself. Lav is fine, I promise. She had some scars, but you can barely see them. She's powerful too."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, she can stand upright. And she can...talk somehow. And she's able to control electricity somehow. And it runs through her body." Hermione said.

"Are you making that up? It sounds like you are making that up."

Hermione shook her head. "The doctors call her a darkbeast."

Draco laughed. "Okay, now I _know_ you are just screwing around."

Hermione smiled at him. "Yeah."

"I didn't know you did humor."

"I didn't know you did remorse and apologies."

His face fell again. "You have no idea what remorse is."

Then he started to cry.

Hermione was shocked, afraid. She got some tissues for him. "C'mon Draco, let's not do this now."

"I'm sorry...I just...when I saw you and your friends walking around, I was so jealous...and angry. You guys were so...just so happy. While I was walking around with two piles of bricks for friends. I didn't really _like_ any of them. And when I was sixteen, when I became a Death Eater, I thought I was going to fail in my mission. I thought my whole family was going to die because of me.

"You guys. You and Potter and Weasley. You guys shined. You still do."

He looked at her. "But I don't love you."

"I don't love you either."

He smiled, looking relieved. "You'll find a way out of this, Granger. A loophole or something."

"And what if I don't? What if I can't?"

Because she honestly didn't know if she could. She understood legal terms. Most of them. That didn't mean anything. That didn't mean there would be a loophole. The only loophole was the Engagement one and she and Ron hadn't been engaged. Or even in a relationship. For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost...and all that rubbish.

"I know you will." Draco said seriously. "So...just don't give up hope yet. Like I have."

"I won't. And you don't need to give up either Draco."

She reached for the jug of whatever it was. And took it.

Draco didn't reach for it. It seemed strange that such a small act made her feel so relieved.

But it did.


	3. Many Years Ago

Many Years Ago

[1]

Most everybody knew about the hatred Harry Potter had once had with Draco Malfoy. Harry had talked about it with his two friends before, and Draco had talked about it with his "underlings." It had started in Madam Malkin's store when they were both getting robes for Hogwarts and ended with Ron Weasley punching him square in the face (and he still brags about that to this day).

They know about all of it...or they think that they do. About the way Draco gloated about Cedric Diggory's death to Harry and might have ended up in the hospital for it if Professor Snape hadn't been there to stop the latter.

They know about the Dursley's, in spite of Harry Potter not wanting them to. They know about his bed below the stairs; how he'd gone days without food; about each and every birthday without a gift, or so much as an "I love you."

They know about love and tolerance and their opposite numbers.

They know about the Weasleys. Their blood purity and love of Muggles. How Arthur had once spent the better part of a week dissecting an old Impala that he hadn't been able to put back together.

And they know about the opposite end of the spectrum, as well...or they think that they do. They know about the Parkinsons. Specifically Perseus Parkinson, who'd been Minister of Magic and had suggested a law banning marriage between wizards and Muggles. They knew, of course, that the public had been tired of that kind of shit and had voted him out the following year.

They know that Pansy Parkinson had tried to sell out Potter during the Battle for Hogwarts, and might have died at that same moment had she raised her wand. They know that she did not participate in the battle with Horace Slughorn and his reinforcements, and that she was among the Slytherins that had remained at Hogsmeade, but not that she had isolated herself by going into the woods.

They don't know that she'd crawled under a tree and buried her face in her hands. That she had cried and cried until the waking hours of the morning.

"What did I do? What the hell did I do?"

They know that Draco Malfoy broke up with her, but not that she'd spent the next two weeks writhing back and forth in her own bed, or that she didn't know if this pain was from losing Draco or from being with him in the first place.

They know that, following Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson was effectively unemployable and that Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood had taken her into Neville's Forest almost out of pity, but don't know about the violent shouting match that Pansy had with her father when he found out.

They don't know that the both of them had raised their wands, and that Pansy had been just a full second faster. And that she disarmed her father and then stunned him. They don't know that her father had uttered the first syllable of the Torturing Curse. Or that Pansy Parkinson had said that if he ever pointed his wand at her again...that he'd never raise his wand for anything ever again.

And none of them know that Pansy had met Ron Weasley when the two of them were seven years old.

[2]

Both of them had at least one thing in common. They had family in Mist Valley, an oddly .named town south of Cheddar.

For the Parkinson's, it was Perseus, former Minister of Magic. He had a lavish house at the edge of town, on a hill so that it overlooked everything else. His birthday was in late July, just a week after Pansy's own. Hector Parkinson, his cousin was among those invited, and of course his wife was too. Pansy liked parties; she didn't _love_ them. She liked meeting new people (new girls, since boys were stupid).

What she didn't particularly care for, was the way her parents got at the parties. There were Grown Up Drinks. Things that made her parents talk funny, and made them stumble around, and made them have to use the bathroom a lot. That day, her parents got worse than usual. Uncle Perseus made them like that sometimes.

She generally avoided her adults when they got like that, usually going off out of the house. She always got back before anyone noticed she was gone. This time wouldn't be any different.

The front door was left wide open. It helped that there were a few of her uncles and aunts passed out on the front lawn. At least one of her uncles had his wand out and was lazily making little fireworks with it. She knew that was dangerous to do out in the open in a Muggle town, but not why.

It didn't matter. None of them lifted their heads at her footsteps, and she was making her way down the hill towards town. She was confident that she'd get back. How could she not find a big house on a hill?

That previous morning, on the western side of the town, Miles Weasley had something awesome to show his cousin Arthur. No, he couldn't say what it was with an owl or through the floo, Arthur had to come, and right now. And why not bring the kids while he was at it? Miles hadn't seen them in a while.

As it was, he could only bring half of them. His wife Molly was visiting Charlie and had taken Ginny and the twins. So Arthur only had Ron and Percy, though he said jovially that it was more than enough.

The cool thing Miles had to show was something that Arthur thought at first was a sewing machine. A very slim and skeletal sewing machine with no sewing needles protruding from the bottom. And wires coming out of one end.

"The Muggles call it an electrical telegraph machine." Miles said, glowing. "They used it in the 1800s. Lemme show you guys how it works."

He had the other end of the machine in a different room, with the door closed. He started clicking on the lever-switch, and Arthur could hear the the beeps on his end.

"Brilliant!" Arthur cried. "But how could they talk with nothing but beeps."

"You see, there's this language called Morse Code..."

Arthur was impressed, but Ron was not. Ron was sitting outside, playing with Miles' pet owl Renegade. Ron wasn't good with animals but Renegade was surprisingly gentle for one with such a mean-sounding name.

At one point, Renegade started drifting towards the wooded area. It was something she did fairly often, and usually for food, though Ron had no way of knowing that at the time.

He found himself in a thickly wooded area, surrounded by trees on one side and a small stream on his left. He was close to panicking, with tears in his eyes. He hated to cry, but he was angry (at himself) and quite afraid.

Suddenly, there came a sound of wailing in the distance.

It came from down the stream. Renegade turned her head, and then went back to the small rodent that she was eating. Ron left her, shaking his head and went down the stream.

He was only jogging for perhaps a minute when he found her. She was sitting at the bank of the stream, on the opposite side. Her face was buried in her hands.

"Hey!" he called out. "Hey, girl!"

She raised her head. Her face was wet and slightly red. Her nose was running. She looked at Ron with utter surprise.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" he shouted. Truth be told, he was close to crying too. And seeing this girl cry didn't help. He hated to see people cry.

"S-some g-guh-guys w-were chuh-chasing me." The girl said. "S-stupid teenagers."

Yeah, Ron knew about stupid teenagers, since Perfect Percy was one.

"Well they're gone now aren't they?" Ron asked. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was something.

The girl chuckled a little bit. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I'll make sure they don't bother you again." Ron said. He was pretty sure he could too. Once George and Fred had dogpiled him and wouldn't get off. Then he started biting them until they howled. Their mother had paddled them all for that, but it meant that Ron didn't have to be the strongest or the fastest; he just had to bite.

Without saying anything, he started to cross the stream. Jeez! It was really cold. It wasn't big, but then again neither was he. He sank down to his waste. It didn't occur to him then—or ever for that matter—how dangerous it would be if a hole or bump took him off his feet. He kept his hands up and balled into fists. He was frowning deeply, eyes wide. The black-haired girl stared at him quizzically, beginning to smile.

When he finally got to the other side, the girl had stopped cryig.

"Why'd you cross it like that?"

"To sit next to you." he said simply. And he sat down next to her, though the wet seat of his pants made it less than comfortable.

"Do your parents drink?" she asked suddenly.

"Huh? Yeah of course they do. Everybody drinks. My family, we drink apple juice and pumpkin juice and dad likes ginger ale too."

The girl laughed, and Ron didn't like that. He thought she was poking fun at him.

"You're funny." she said, and that made him smile. She wasn't poking fun at him after all.

"You live here?"

"Nope, my daddy is visiting family."

"So's mine." Ron said.

"Who's yours?"

"My daddy is Arthur Weasley."

"My daddy is Hector Parkinson."

"Oh..." Ron said softly. His dad knew the Parkinsons and didn't like any of them.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Okay."

They talked about unimportant things. About Quidditch and where they wanted to go to school. They both wanted to go to Hogwarts and they both wanted to be in Gryffindor. Ron because most of his family was. Pansy because she always wanted to be brave.

"You look pretty brave to me." Ron said. Again it was stupid to say. What did bravery _look_ like?

And the girl hugged him.

"Ew! Gross." Ron said, but then he started to laugh. The girl laughed at that.

Eventually, it was time for them to go. The girl was afraid again. She was lost.

"So am I." Ron said.

They followed the stream north and got to town. They ran into Ron's father pretty quickly. His good humor was gone.

"Where on Earth have you been Ronald?"

His tone was low and dangerous. He was nicer than mom, and that made him all the more scary when he _was_ angry.

"Sorry, dad, I got lost."

"You wandered off you mean." his dad said.

Ron nodded and said nothing.

"Your mother will hear about this."

That meant a paddling more likely than not. Ron accepted his fate with a few sniffles.

Now his dad noticed the girl. "Hello young lady."

"Hello sir." The girl was wearing a white dress—which was now quite dirty—and did a very formal curtsy. Ron thought it looked funny, but was in no mood to laugh.

[3]

Again people don't know that Arthur asked for her name and knew immediately who she was. Or that he escorted her to the Parkinson manner. Or that Perseus had been the one to open the door. Or that he'd been so drunk, that he hadn't recognized the freckles or red hair, and made no comments about blood traitors or purity.

Or that he'd brought Pansy in and that none of her parents had realized she was missing, and that the feeling of indifference had haunted Pansy to this day.

It was a long time before the two of them remembered. They had encountered one another their first year of Hogwarts. But Pansy was different, so mean and cruel. Ron thought it couldn't be her, cracking jokes about Mudbloods and Longbottom's weight.

Pansy had forgotten about it, and didn't remember until her sixth year at Hogwarts, as Draco began to shut her out. She thought it wasn't real. The moment was a small beacon in a sea of misery. It wasn't real at all. The memory was not a memory, but a dream. That had to be it. The product of guilt at being such a bitch for so many years.

 _But it was real,_ Pansy thought, as they were loving one another again. It was no longer out of desperation and loneliness, but acceptance and friendship. Did they love one another? They still weren't sure, but did it matter? Their increasingly intense friendship was enough.

They traveled together, and played wizard's chess, and cooked meals for one another. One time Pansy woke up and Ron was in the kitchen, making breakfast. He was a terrible cook, at first, but now he rarely burned anything.

"You're getting better."

"It's because I'm using the Sharingan."

"The what?"

Ron laughed at that.

They confided in one another: Ron talking to her before Harry or Hermione, and Pansy talking to him before Draco or Millicent.

They visited relatives in the US and stayed at a hotel, and kept playing pranks on the staff.

They both bought Firebolts and raced each other across the length of Scotland. Pansy was actually pretty good for someone with no interest in Quidditch.

And they cried out each other's names when they made love.

[4]

"Do you believe in destiny Ronald?"

They were in bed together. He was the big spoon and she was the little one.

He looked at her. "No, love, I don't. I believe in choices. I don't think that God or anything else put us here so that we can hurt somebody else or help somebody else and have no choice in the matter. I don't like the idea of a God that puts someone like Tom Riddle on the planet and says 'he's going to be a bad guy and there's nothing he can do about it'. Do you?"

"No," she said, "I don't."

It was October, and the trees outside were orange and balding.

"I treated you badly." Ron said. "That was my choice...at first. I won't make that mistake ever again."

He didn't say "I promise" at the end of that. She already knew.

[5]

They had a son named Art.


	4. Scars

**AN: I thought I wouldn't add anything else to this, but I might post the occasional chapter whenever I feel like exploring an odd pairing. So don't expect constant updates with this one.**

Scars

[1]

Theo knew immediately that something was wrong. He knew it just as soon as he entered his flat.

For one his wife wasn't in the kitchen. She wasn't cooking of course, since she couldn't cook for shit. But she should be eating whatever take-out she ordered. She loved take-out. She liked to eat it while the Record Book was open and playing something. Anything.

And when Theo opened the door, his wife would usually greet him. Not particularly cordially, of course, and she wouldn't come to the door. She would say "You're home already?"

He was home at the same time every day during the weekdays: 5:30. His wife talked like she expected him to hit a few bars or ten after work every day. He'd actually do that if he thought it would help.

Depowering those dark artifacts was a pain in the ass. Only that wasn't true at all. It was ten times worse than that. It left him and Draco drained. It took something out of them besides energy. He didn't know what, and didn't want to guess.

They'd dealt with a horcrux today. Not Voldemort's, that much was certain. Neither he nor Draco knew who it'd belonged to. That filled them with a growing sense of horror that Theo didn't want to acknowledge.

It was a sword. Not ornate like the one those the goblins had made for Gryffindor, but a simple gladius. When it was unsheathed, a specter came out. It had blood-red eyes. It was horribly emaciated, its ribs and skull so prominent in its chest and head that Theo thought it was supposed to be a skeleton.

"The sunless sea." The ghost had said. "The sunless sea. We plunder deep and run from creatures from beneath the sunless sea."

The two of them had screamed a little.

No. That wasn't true. The truth was Draco and Theo had screamed a lot. Screamed so much that they wouldn't be able to speak much above a whisper for the rest of the day.

Draco had acted first. The depowering room was actually a metal cell with flat lead walls and no windows. He casted Fiendfyre. A terrible curse. An awful curse. Out from his wand poured not dragons or hairy beasts but hell-demons, things which (Theo hoped) were not real at all.

Then pulled Theo out as the horcrux was destroyed. There was a terrible sound. Not the Fiend, but whatever

 _(whoever)_

the thing was destroying.

The eyes of the roiling demon-Fiends slowly turned their eyes to them as Theo hit the switch on the half-ton lead door. It closed slowly—much too slowly. The Fiends nearly reached them. Had even a lick of the flames escaped, that would be the entire Ministry.  
"You guys were lucky." Harry Potter had said. "You know that? What were you thinking, casting that curse, Malfoy?"

Draco and Potter still weren't on good terms. Draco looked like he was about to shoot back with a quip, but only managed a frayed laugh. It sounded like masked sobbing. Theo had buried his face in his hands and said nothing.

What was there to say? Another horcux, another Voldemort (maybe). And tomorrow there would be more dark artifacts. More subtle whispers that would follow Theo into the bedroom, into his uneasy sleep. His own father was a stupid Death Eater, but Theo didn't think there could be so much madness in the world. He hurt almost all the time. He could be...raping himself. That's something he couldn't tell anyone, not even the head doctor quack at St. Mungo's.

[2]

He blinked and he was back in his flat. Back where he was supposed to be. The relief was faint, and very brief. The matter at hand.

His wife. Where was she? He felt that familiar disquiet. Had she closed the damn curtains?

He went into the kitchen, and got his answer.

The kitchen had two windows facing the backyard, one on either side of the fridge. The one on the left was drawn. The one on the right was not. The moon hung low and red, a hungover eye, plainly in view of the windows.

The rest of the kitchen was in shambles. The fridge's door had been ripped open. Soda bottles and Tupperware lied crushed on the floor. Food was all over the place. The bag of red potatoes had been torn asunder and lay under the kitchen table, most of its contents gone. The lone survivor, was lied smashed next to the fridge.

The kitchen table itself had been split in two, with the edges splintered, as though something insanely heavy had tried to use it for a chair.

The pie Granger had made had been thrown into the far corner. The dishes, which had been piled high in the sink, were scattered all over the floor in pieces.

Theo's eyes took all this in, and his throat closed up.

He slowly searched the rest of the house, with his wand drawn, in both hands like a gun. The light-blue walls had claw marks here and there, long and jagged. His shoes crunched down on wood chips that had fallen away.

There was a rattle from the spare bedroom. Theo turned into a statue.

"Hello?"

It took him a long time to start moving again.

He stood at the bedroom door, afraid to move. He blinked and his mind filled with awful, red images.

He kicked the door open, like he'd seen in those Muggle cop shows.

The noise was coming from the owl cage in the far corner of the room. It was his wife's owl, Gold. Gold was frantic, smashing his body against the cage. Theo let him out, and Gold nipped him a good one on the wrist.

"Dammit!" Theo shouted, and swatted at him. Gold retreated back into the cage.

"I was trying to help you, you little shit." Theo said. His voice was breaking up. He was afraid.

His wife was nowhere to be found in the house. It was actually a relief. He was an _okay_ duelist—certainly nothing special.

[3]

He went to the fireplace, threw in the Floo powder from the container sitting on top of it.

Theo spoke clearly: "Ministry of Magic, Auror Department." And stepped through.

The fireplace of the Auror Department was charmed so that Theo could not move inside of it, or out from it. He would not be released from its hold until a word was spoken. The word changed every two hours.

Aurors immediately surrounded him. Weasley and Potter were among them.

"Nott?" Potter said. "What is it?" But the look on his face made it seem like he knew.

"It's the full moon." Theo said. "Lavender...she must've seen it."


	5. Scars II

Scars II

[1]

When the letter came, Lavender Brown was sitting in front of the fireplace, reading The Talisman, by that Muggle writer Stephen King. It had a werewolf in it, or something so close to it that you might as well just use the word.

Her Aunt Rose had bought the book for her, not knowing her mistake until Lavender was nearly at the end. "I know it's a sore subject for you, Lav, I'm really sorry."

But there was nothing to be sorry about. Lavender didn't care about other people being freaks with freaky transformations. She didn't care about Lupin being a freak. She cared that _she_ was a freak.

The fireplace flashed green and in stepped Aunt Rose. This was her place after all, since Lavender's parents wouldn't allow her to live with them anymore. Not under any circumstances. She hadn't heard from them in about six months now. That hurt more than anything else.

Aunt Rose had coarse black hair and an even coarser face. She was trying on a smile that seemed much too small. Bad news. What more bad news could there be? The last time Lavender went out, someone had shoved her into a wall. She'd run away crying.

"The letter's here." Her aunt said.

"Which letter?" Lavender listened to the sound of her own voice. How lifeless.

"The marriage one."

"Do me a favor and toss it in the fireplace, can you auntie?"

"If it would make a difference, hun, I'd love to."

"I'm not opening it."

Aunt Rose sat on the couch next to her. "Lav, honey. We want to know who the lucky man is sooner rather than later."

Lavender nearly burst out laughing. "Lucky! Right!"

Aunt Rose frowned. "You're a wonderful lady. Any boy would be blessed to have you. That fool Weasley boy—"

Now Lavender _did_ laugh. She laughed so hard that she dropped her book. Her hands covered her face.

The earnest look on Aunt Rose's face became wooden and blank.

"Auntie, look at me." Lavender said quietly.

Her aunt didn't say anything. She knew what was coming next. She was looking at the same face that Lavender saw in the mirror every day.

Lavender had a wide, almost heart-shaped face. She'd hated it nearly every year of her life. Until she started dating Ron, she'd thought it made her ugly.

Her lips were neither thin nor full. Her eyes were jade. Her hair was curly and brown and almost seemed springy at times.

Her hair was shorter now, and she still wore a ribbon, though yellow instead of pink.

She might have been pretty, except there were two large claw marks running down the left side of her face. They started at her hairline, and continued down. The leftmost one went across her left eye socket. Her left eye was gone, of course. She was wearing a white medical patch where it had once been. The claw marks ended at the edge of her jawline.

Lavender cried every time she looked in the mirror. The claw marks had once looked like massive fissures. Now they were decently healed. But they were the only things about her that were.

"I'm ugly. I'm hideous." She said quietly. "No wizard will ever want me. No Muggle for that fact. I—"

" _Stop_!" Aunt Rose shouted, and her fury made her niece do just that. Her aunt was standing up now, her hands clenched. For an insane moment, Lav thought she would strike her.

"Now _you_ listen to _me._ " Aunt Rose's was even and sharp like steel. "You are an incredible, wonderful human being. You were that before. You are that now. That bastard Greyback didn't take that away from you. The only person who can do that is you yourself."

Lavender burst into tears. Her aunt bent down and hugged her.

"It might not be a Slytherin. I know that's part of what's bothering you. I don't care for them much either. But that Slughorn man wasn't too bad. That Snape neither."

Lavender wasn't sure she'd get a Slughorn or Snape (and she didn't think much of Snape, whether he loved Potter mum or not). She might get a Malfoy...or a Riddle.

God, please not that.

The letter was opened an hour later, after much talking and delaying. Lavender only found the strength after convincing herself it would be a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.

Instead she gasped and turned white like parchment. It was Theodore Nott. He came from an infamous Death Eater family.

Lavender ran to her bedroom and wept.

[2]

The Nott boy came around a few days later, during the evening, looking fairly disheveled for a Slytherin. His face was quite thin, to the point of looking emaciated.

He stepped out from the green fire of the fireplace.

"Don't try anything funny." Aunt Rose warned. Her wand wasn't raised, but it was held at her side.

"Spare me the threats." Nott said instantly. "Daddy threatened me at least once every day."

"I'm not playing any games with you boy. Sit down."

"Yes ma'am." Nott answered, with no respect at all in his tone.

Lavender was sitting down at the kitchen table across from him. She hadn't cried much today. Only two tissues were wadded up in front of her.

"Unhappy with the news too?" Nott asked. His eyes hovered on her

 _(scars)_

face for a moment, then dropped away.

"You could say that." Lav said tonelessly. "I didn't want a Slytherin. Nobody does."

"Ouch. Right for the jugular." Nott said. Except he didn't look wounded at all.

Lavender kept going: "Why would I want to spend the rest of my life with a Death Eater?"

"Hey!" Nott shouted. Now he _did_ look angry. He pulled up both sleeves of his sweater. "You see any skulls here? You see any snakes? Don't _ever_ call me that."

"S-sorry." Lavender said, taken aback by the sudden fury. In school, Nott had always seemed as lively as a block of wood, not even joining Malfoy and his cronies in insulting the Gryffindors. Or even joining Malfoy at all.

This display was the most Lavender had ever seen him talk.

"Your dad was a Death Eater." Lavender said, as if to justify her last remark.

Nott grinned. It was like a skeleton grinning at her. It disturbed her. "Oh he was? Thanks for telling me. I didn't know that."

"Can you not be sarcastic for three seconds?"

"Listen boy." Aunt Rose said, sitting down at the table with them. "Lav needs some guarantees, and so do I. You won't abuse her for one."

"I know I won't."

"Physically. Mentally. S...sexually." Aunt Rose said that last word with a visible effort.

Nott's face tightened at that last one. He looked insulted again. More than that, he looked disgusted. "I'm not that kind of person. Or do you people just judge others by their House?"

Lavender spoke before thinking, and what she said was stupid. "How can we know you aren't?"

Theodore Nott's fast twisted into a mask of rage and pain. He shot to his feet."I'm going to go."

"No. Sit down." Aunt Rose said.

"What...and stand here and be accused of being a rapist?" Nott asked. His voice shook with fury. "I'll pass thanks."

He Floo out of there before any of them could say anything else.

[3]

He wrote her letters. Lavender read none of them, throwing them away. They were probably apologies. But they also could've been hate letters. Accusations. Condemnations against her and her aunt. Aunt Rose urged her to read them, but she didn't listen.

It didn't matter. The law was to be followed. They were married in the spring.

Lavender's parents did not attend. Neither did Nott's though for completely different reasons. Nott's parents were both in Azkaban. Lavender's parents were probably sitting at home, drinking Irish coffee or wine.

Hermione was here, but her fiancé Malfoy was not. Ron was here, but his fiancé Pansy Parkinson was not. Neville and Luna were here. They were probably the only forced engagement where both parties were decently happy. Both of them had told Lav to be strong, but what strength was there to find in this?

Nott stood in his best suit, black with green lines at the creases, and a green tie. He was still a proud Slytherin, which Lavender didn't like at all.

Lavender wore Aunt Rose's old wedding dress. She'd wanted to touch it up with red and yellow sequins, but couldn't find the motivation to do so. Her medical eyepatch, and scars, were covered by Aunt Rose's hand-sewn veil.

Aunt Rose said it gave Lavender an air of mystery. Lavender thought it made her look like someone who didn't know how to put on a veil.

She sighed. She'd imagined marrying a Gryffindor like Ron or Neville. She liked Harry Potter the least of all the boys in her House (but damn if she knew why) but even he would've been a lot better than...this.

The bride and groom listened to the priest go on and on. Their faces were like wood. To have to hold; till death did they part. Lavender thought she would be crying by now. This was her life now. She was a werewolf freak, _and_ marrying a man associated with Death Eaters.

She had no idea how he would treat her, or what she would do to him. His protests on her accusations meant nothing. People hated being called what they were.

 _People also hate being called what they weren't, Lav._

Her blank face briefly changed to one of concern. The priest didn't notice, probably because of the veil covering half her face.

They exchanged vows with all the warmth and emotion of a person reading an instruction manual aloud. They put their wedding rings on each other.

"You may kiss the bride." The priest said.

Neither one of them moved at first. A few seconds passed, then several. Lavender felt her body temp go up, though she didn't know if it was from anger or embarrassment.

Then Nott leaned forward. She recoiled a bit (someone in the audience laughed, and then was hushed by a low, savage voice) and then remained still. Nott kissed her on the cheek. There was brief, quiet applause.

Then Lavender Nott did start to cry.

[4]

Lavender moved into Nott's flat. It was another thing that couldn't be avoided with the marriage law—not without justifiable cause, like abuse or adultery. Lavender still thought Nott would be guilty of one of those things in the future, if not both.

But life with Theodore was not so bad, as it turned out. It wasn't wonderful: she still wasn't really able to go outside. Shackleboot's (was that his name?) promised anti-discrimination laws, but they had yet to be passed.

Theodore would come from work, looking extremely drained. They slept in separate rooms. Theodore played classical music during bedtime to help him fall asleep. It didn't help her fall asleep, but it was nice to listen to until she did.

He allowed her to bring friends over, but she didn't really have any friends. Parvati didn't speak to her now. Padma wrote her letters but didn't visit: she was in the US now.

Her best friends had become Hermione and Luna. She would've laughed had you said that to her two years ago. Of course she and the former had fought over Ron, but that was meaningless now. Both of them had lost that fight.

Luna was funny, talking about grackles and jabberwockys and all that nonsensical stuff. Maybe she really was crazy, but she was also sweet in a way that "normal" people just couldn't be.

Theodore didn't really have any of his friends over. Malfoy was afraid of Lavender, he said. Not because of her condition, but because he thought she hated him. And she did.

Blaise Zabini had been over recently. He'd pretended as though she wasn't even there. Whenever she stood up to go get something—tea or a book—he flinched, and reached for a wand that wasn't there.

"That wasn't called for Zabini." Theo had said. Lavender was up in her bedroom, trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry for you Nott."

"Shut up."

"Having a werewolf freak for a wife."

"Shut up!"

There was a thud and then a crash as something fell over.

Then Theodore's voice, low and deadly: "Get out before I get myself into Muggle prison."

Later, there was a knock on the door. "Lav?"

"Go away!"

The two of them didn't speak for days.

She couldn't. The rage was too strong. She felt a powerful tug, the desire to rip and tear. She slept and dreamed of everyone laughing at her, their faces beast-like, their eyes yellow and narrow. She dreamed of Zabini lying in front of her, his blood was in her fist.

The moon was close. The full moon. She didn't know how close, but she knew—just before she sat down to order food—that she had to close the curtains and keep them closed for at least a few days.

But as she closed the kitchen window, she wanted to spare one last look at the beautiful water that the flat overlooked. The moon would be high in the dark sky, she thought. A naïve and stupid thought.

Because the moon hung low, just over the water, red and gigantic. Had she waited perhaps an hour, it would've been out of sight.

She stared at it. It stared back. It grew and it grew, swelling up as if careening toward the Earth. There was no water or view in the window now. Just that awful and exciting red. Her stomach was not just empty, it was cavernous. She must feed.

She began to smile. The moon smiled back.


	6. Scars III

Scars III

AN: Sup guys. Been holding off on this for too long.  
The words the ghost spoke in Scar 1 is actually from the Sunless Sea Rap by Dan Bull.

[1]

He was in pain. A great deal of pain.

He was lying in the corner of some backwoods shanty, in a puddle of his own blood.

And his wife was in the opposite corner. She'd reverted back to her human self.

She was dead.

The force of his curse had sent her careening into the wall, striking it had enough to rattle the poor windows and cracking one of them. She was curled into a fetal position. Her brown hair was in tangled ribbons. A small trail of blood trickled out of her mouth.

Her eyes were open, blank but holding a glimmer of accusation.

Theo felt like crying.

The door opened. Theo turned. It was Potter and Weasley.

"She..." Theo barely had breath. "She attacked me."

"You killed her." Potter said.

Theo forced the words out with a great effort. Just saying them brought him to tears. "I...I didn't want to. I..."

"You're a murderer."

"What?" Theo said, startled. He looked at the two Aurors. Their faces were like wood.

"You killed her in cold blood." Ronald Weasley said. His voice was not...his voice.

Theo shook his head. It was a frantic, jerking motion. "N-nuh-no. That's not what happened. I t-told you she..."

"You killed her because she was Gryffindor. You hated her." Harry Potter said.

"I told you she attacked me!" Theo shouted. "She—"

"She was a werewolf?" Ron said. "You expect us to believe that shit? Look at her. Does she _look_ like a werewolf?"

"She changed back!" Theo cried. He turned his head to look at her, somehow certain that she _would_ be a werewolf. They would see.

She was not in a fetal position in the corner. She was pinned to the wall. She was in her wedding dress, with her veil covering half her face. The exposed half of her face was pale and lifeless. Her blank eye was not blank anymore. It stared at directly him. The cornea of her eye was not white but blood red.

Theo's scream was trapped in his throat.

"You're a Death Eater." Potter said.

Theo's head whipped around. "How dare you! I am NOT!"

Harry and Ron didn't have eyes anymore. Their empty sockets were blank and flat. Their wands were raised.

"Yes you are." Harry said. "First you got a unique Time Turner. Then you tried to kill me when I discovered you. Then you tried to bring back Voldemort. Then you became the Augurey."

Theo's voice was breaking: "What the hell are you even talking about?!"

Theo's wand dropped to the ground. He pulled his sleeves back. "You see?!"

Something made him look himself. He should not have looked.

Because the Dark Mark was plainly visible on his arm. The skull was misshapen, its grin a grimace of pain. The snake curled all around it in a vice. The snake moved and wrapped around the skull, and its eyes were red.

[2]

He woke up screaming and clawing. His frantic eyes looked around his bedroom. There was somebody directly to his left. He screamed again.

"Stop it!" Lavender said, her hands raised in concern. "What's wrong?"

He stared at her, breathing ragged breathes. He was covered in cold sweat, his undergarments nearly bound to his body.

"I'm not..." he breathed. "I didn't..."

There were no words. None at all.

They looked at one another, not speaking. Lavender often wore face-cream to bed, but didn't tonight. Theo thought she actually looked better when she wasn't wearing makeup. Most women did.

Finally, he _could_ speak.

"Please...just go away."

Lavender remained in the room for just a moment longer. She sighed and headed for the door.

 _Terrible! Stupid! Why the hell did you do that?_

It was the only thing he could do. He couldn't tell her the truth of the dream, what he'd done to her. He covered his face with his hands, fell back into the pillow. A unique Time Turner. Trying to revive the Dark Lord.

The more he thought about it. The less...odd it seemed. Almost familiar.

Theo shook his head violently. "No. Fuck that. That's stupid. I'm not a Death Eater. Never was. Never will be."

Sleep didn't come for another two hours.

[3]

Lavender climbed back into her bed. Her scars were hurting, but not badly. She wouldn't have to take anything for the pain.

Nott had had a terrible nightmare. She knew the type. She woke up sweating almost every morning, with trapped, frightened eyes. They were always the same kind, with Lavender standing over the body of someone she cared about: Aunt Rose, Hermione, Luna, Padma, her parents.

They were always torn to ribbons, blood pooled to a generous size under their bodies. And the pain would be so immense that Lavender wished for death.

She closed her eyes, and saw those images again. Opened them. Closed them again. Now she saw Theo with his terrified face.

She feared for him. She feared for herself. And she wept in fear of the future.

The full moon was a week away.

[4]

Theodore and Lavender Nott lived in Portsmouth, south of London.

Their flat overlooked the English Channel, which was perhaps the only thing Lavender had ever liked about it.

Lavender Nott turned that night, on the twenty-third of May, and when she did, she carved a path heading west.

Potter's Auror team responded to calls in Porchester, Fareham, Whiteley and Park Gate.

In Porchester: a house had been completely ransacked. The fridge door had been yanked so hard that it had fallen on its face. The lone owner was cowering in her bedroom. Her dog was dead in the living room, its head crushed to pulp.

In Fareham: a farm had all its livestock torn to shreds and consumed. The farmer had gone out and seen something "large and unnatural" feeding on the pigs in their pen. The farmer had opened fire with his shotgun. But of course it had no silver.

He blinked and the creature had been in front of him. He screamed. He leveled his gun, which was knocked away, as if from the grasp of a child. It shattered against a nearby tree. All the farmer could do is collapse to his knees and crawl to a nearby haystack. But the creature was already gone.

In Whitely: a police car had been completely overturned. The cops had been responding to a residence call about a "bear peering through the window." Harry and Ron found the cops in a nearby alley, both screaming when the Aurors rounded the corner.

"Hands in the air!" the cops said, but hadn't raised their guns yet.

Harry and Ron raised their wands. "Protego!" Ron said.

One of the cops fired. The bullets bounced off the shield, went back in the direction of the cops, ricocheted through the alley, popping a beer bottle off a garbage can. The cops hit the dirt.

"Obliviate!" Harry said once, and then twice. And then it was done.

Another call in Hedge End. But Harry and Ron were too late there as well.

"This sucks." Ron said grimly. The caller was already charmed and sent on his way. Neither Harry nor Ron were particularly fond of wiping people's memories. It brought to mind bad ones of that incompetent asshole Lockhart.

Ron said: "The more people she alerts, the worse this is gonna be at the trial."

"Hermione said she might be able to pull strings." Harry said. "Get Lavender off without too much hassle."

" _Might_ and _will_ are two different words, mate."

"Too right, but I think she can do it. I have faith in her. Don't you?"

"You _know_ I do." Ron said seriously. And a trifle guiltily. She'd been the eye of his heart in Hogwarts...and now she simply wasn't. When he thought of her, the long brown hair became black and short. The fierce and intelligent brown eyes became green and remorseful.

He knew it wasn't betrayal (they were each married to someone else after all) but sometimes it _felt_ that way.

"Ron! You still with me?" Harry asked.

Ron snapped out of it. "Huh? Yeah, 'course I am. Let's go."

They disappeared with a loud snapping sound.

[4]

After twenty miles and three hours, they finally caught up to her.

She was in the New Forest National Park. They followed a trail of animal bodies to a ring of trees in a clearing.

She dozed in this ring. Her head was nestled on a soft patch of dirt next to the largest tree. On the opposite side of the ring, a decapitated grizzly bear. Its ruined head was in Lavender's clawed hands.

"Oh Merlin, there she is!" Ron said. Not too loudly. But loudly enough.

Lavender was immediately on all fours. Looking around with keen and feral eyes. _Eyes_ that is...and not eye.

"Right good job Ron." Harry said quietly.

Her werewolf form was much different than that of the late Professor Lupin. She was significantly larger, noticeably hairier. She had a mane around her head, which made some weird kind of sense.

Her eyes cut towards Harry, then Ron. They locked onto Ron for a long time. He gulped, sweating heavily. He'd read the same shit they all had in school. About how the even the most feral of werewolves had some trace of their human self.

Ron actually hoped that wasn't the case at all.

Lavender kept staring at him.

So much for that.

She raised up until she stood up on too feet, cocking her head up to the covered sky and howling.

Ron blinked, and instantly she was on him, claws bared. He took two quick steps back. The air where his head had been a bare second ago had claws go through it like hot knives.

A blast of red stunning light sent Lavender off to the right. She turned her attention to Harry. She ducked under his second spell, coming very low to the ground, only to be hit from a Stupefy from Ron.

She turned back to him, lunging through the air. Ron responded by rolling forward. A mass of hair and dirty animal smell rushed above him, scratching part of his robes.

He rose to his knees. Lavender kicked him square in the gut. He was sent tumbling across the ground.

Harry fired another Stupefy. Lavender brought her arms up, covering her face in an X-shape. Like this was Street Fighter or something.

But it worked; the Stunning Charm struck her arms and dispersed into four streams of red light, curling around and away from her.

"What the hell?" Harry's mouth fell open. Resistant to magic. Even more so than the average werewolf.

Ron fired another Stupefy, this one hit Lavender in the back, making her recoil forward. Instead of spinning around to go for Ron again, she used the force to rush Harry.

He disapparated, and reappeared next to Ron, startling the redhead and nearly making him drop his wand. Lavender crashed into the soft mud.

"Damnit!" Harry clutched his right hand, his wand dropped. He'd splinched two fingernails clean off. He looked at his hand; it was like two blood drenched tombstones were looking back at him. There was also a laceration low on his neck.

Lavender quickly got up, shaking the mud off her mane and head. She glared at them, but Harry could sense a certain flatness in the eyes that absolutely wasn't there before. She was becoming less alert, getting worn down by the stunning spells.

As if to contradict him, she lunged again, much faster this time. Ron ducked to the left, Harry to the right. Lavender's right claw came around in a savage arc. The middle nail drew a line of agony from the back of Harry's right wrist all the way up to the shoulder.

He screamed and cursed.

His roll became a tumble and he face-planted into the dirt just like Lav had a second ago. He got up, wiped the crap off his face, and raised his wand...but then remembered he didn't have it.

Lavender was in the middle of the clearing, bearing down on Ron.

Harry thought: _Accio wand!_

Nothing happened. Ron was fighting well, all his shots hitting. Lavender had no interest in blocking anymore. She was out for blood.

Harry screamed: _ACCIO FUCKING WAND!_

The wand came up, somersaulting through the air. His hands reached for it, missed.

He didn't hear the sound of disturbed branches behind him.

[5]

Lavender did a horizontal swipe. Ron ducked it. She did a vertical swipe and Ron rolled back. The claw plowed into the dirt where his head had been not even a full second ago.

He raised his wand. Lavender backhanded it out of his grasp, breaking his wrist in the process.

"Shit!" he cried out. He dodge another blow from her, then an open palm rushed him, slamming him into a tree.

He struggled. No use. He was pinned. The beastly face in front of him grinned a wild and horrible grin.

The free claw was reared back, like she was trying to hail a cab. She would slice him right down the middle.

"Lavender stop." he said. It was strange, hearing how calm and even his voice was. He felt neither calm nor even, but there it was.

The claw halted mid-swing. That was also strange. Very strange.

Ron's voice was strangely steady. "I'm sorry. I treated you like a piece of garbage. I should've been honest with you from the start. I was weak. Harry, Hermione, they were always stronger."

Lavender's narrow, feral eyes widened. The pupils dilated into something almost human.

A single tear ran down Ron's face. His voice was breaking and he hated it. "I don't even understand why you liked me. You deserved so much better."

"Lavender stop!" someone shouted.

Ron looked. Hermione, Luna, and Theodore Nott had come into the clearing. They were followed by others: Ginny, Draco, Neville, and George. His heart sank when he saw his wife Pansy was there.

Lavender looked from Ron, to the group, to Ron again. The movement was slow, uncertain. Her eyes were wider, confused, as if to ask why exactly where they all here in the middle of the woods like this.

Then that confused look was gone, and she was Beast Lavender again. She faced Ron with her teeth bared, drool foaming out of her blood-covered mouth.

"Petrificus totalus!" They all roared. A stream of fine mist erupted from their wands. The streams merged and formed a thick and controlled fan.

It coated Lavender from top to bottom, weighing down her fur like raindrops. Immediately, her arms snapped to her sides. Her legs jerked straight and rigid. She didn't sway; she fell right on her back.

Ron collapsed to the ground. Pansy and Hermione rushed for him. Ron looked up, saw Pansy, said, "You're the best wife ever." Then he passed out.

[6]

"You're sure everything's will be okay?" Theo asked the two Aurors.

They were in St. Mungo's just outside the room Theo's wife was staying in. Lav drifted in and out of consciousness. The occasional times she'd been awake, she'd been loopy.

"Hermione said it, so that's how it is." Ron said simply. He looked no worse for wear. Most of the damage was in the frayed look of his eyes. "Harry agreed with her. So we've got the word of the Mate Who Lived plus the brightest witch of our time. The prosecutor had no real choice in the matter."

Theo ran a hand through his dirty-blonde hair. He couldn't believe it. That Granger promised a lot, but had the skill to back it up. She'd convinced the head prosecutor to drop the charges.

Lavender was a war hero, and survivor. This was her only instance committing a crime. Instead of prison time, she would only be on probation for six months.

Harry spoke up beside Ron. "I'd really recommend this never happen again." he said. "If it does, there isn't much that Hermione or me will be able to do."

Theo counted the two of them lucky. His wife had only killed a few livestock and destroyed some property, all of which could be replaced. She also hadn't been seen by any cameras or too many Muggles. A few easy Memory Charms and it was like the whole thing had never happened.

 _Had she killed someone,_ he thought, _there'd be no way we could get anyone to believe her. She'd be heading for Azkaban right now. Thank Merlin, thank God, thank whoever the hell._

[7]

She was awake. The pain in every pore of her body, but it was distant pain. She was feeling great. Feeling grand. People kept telling her something about how she'd lost control. She didn't understand. She was in total control. Life was fine. Life was grand.

Theo had just come through the door.

Lavender stretched her arms wide, ignoring the flash of pain in both. "There's my handsome hubby!"

Theo blushed, keeping his head down.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Th-the doctor said you will be free to go tomorrow."

"Fantastic!" she said, giggling.

"And there will be no charges against you, thanks to Hermione Granger."

"Superb!"

"Lavender! It's not funny. You could be in a lot of trouble. I don't know what you were thinking, looking out the window when you knew the full moon was out."

Lavender smile became faint, almost petulant. "I wanted to see the water one last time."

"It's not like you were never going to see the English Channel again." Theo said.

"What if it was?" Lavender answered, still smiling that awful smile. "What if I was killed instead of captured?"

"Harry and his team would never..."

"I know, but Harry's team isn't the only one. He's not a senior agent, Theo. Not even close. Maybe I won't have anything to fear if he becomes Head Auror, like he wants. But until then..."

Theo said nothing.

Lavender smiled, and it was full of fear. "I could die at any moment. Don't you realize that? Someday, I'll change. I'll kill somebody. An Auror who is not Harry or Ron will come after me, and they'll duel to kill."

Theo didn't say anything for a long moment. He took two steps closer. "Fuck you, Mrs. Nott."

She recoiled from the harsh words.

"I won't let you die. I refuse to allow it. You have a smart-ass response to that?"

She did not.

[8]

Theo was in his bedroom, trying to get to sleep, and failing. His mind was full of thoughts. But at least they were pleasant ones.

Lavender was released from the hospital and was on house arrest for two months. She passed some of the time writing and reading. She was learning how to cook. She'd cooked dinner for them tonight. It was bad. Terrible. So bad, the two of them had nearly fallen out of their chairs laughing.

So they had pizza tonight. Even thinking about it now made him start chuckling.

The bedroom door opened and his wife stepped in.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"No." Lavender said softly. She was different now, no longer completely consumed in depression. Theo had hired a head doctor for her. She was smiling more. She was smiling now.

She wasn't wearing her medical patch now. The scars were looking better anyways. Draco said that if it kept healing, he and Hermione might be able to make a potion that would regenerate her missing eye. Lav had hugged the two of them.

"I really messed up dinner, didn't I?" she said now.

"I would've done worse."

She climbed into bed, lying her head down on the pillow next to his. They held hands.

"I'm so glad you're alive." Theo said. He no longer looked like the emaciated boy who'd left her auntie's house in anger.

Lavender was genuinely touched at his words. Theo was Slytherin, and perhaps the sweetest man she had ever known.

"I'm glad you're alive." she said. "All that stuff I said to you at first. I was stupid. I was a prat." The tears came, and they were easy, open tears. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Theo said softly. "I barely even tried talking to you unless you were angry. You are my wife...but I treated you as my 'afflicted' wife."

They stared at one another, each thinking about kissing the other.

 _I don't know if that will even happen._ Theo thought.

[9]

It did.


	7. Insurgent I

AN: And...time for another odd pairing I think. Not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out. I was going for a constant time-alternating narrative like what you see in Stephen King's "It" but the format isn't amazing for the short chapters that I plan on writing for FanFiction. So I'm thinking Insurgent II will be completely set in the past, and III completely in the present. Or something like that.

Insurgent I

[1]  
Present

Astoria "Ria" Greengrass sat in her bedroom, looking at the letter. She was smiling, but the smile was rigid, and from outside appearances, might look like a result of off food rather than good news.

She wasn't exactly happy; she wasn't exactly miserable. She wasn't enraged; she wasn't serene. There wasn't any word in any dictionary that could describe what she was feeling right now. She was everything

There was no way to tell what those yahoos over at the Ministry thought was a good-enough pairing. They said they did compatibility tests.

To the other witches, like Pansy, it brought to mind some three dozen people pouring over old teacher logs of students. Making a note of which ones had good behavior, which had bad. Who had aced their Newts and who had barely scraped by their OWLS.

To Ria's mind came a dork of a man in his mid-20s, typing keys in his Muggle machine while drinking coffee.

Some were less complimentary than even that. Draco thought the "test" was little more than some drunk man throwing darts at a board. That made Ria giggle even though it really wasn't that funny. When they were in school, she caught him looking at her from time to time.

The man was cute. But he was also weak. That was as simple a description that she could give. At this point, of course, everyone in the wizarding world knew about his little encounter with that griffon. Told not to insult the creature and he did it anyway. Nicely done.

And everyone knew about how Granger held him at wand-point and he was practically crying.

Ria did value him however. He provided her with a wealth of information. About the Dark Lord's plans. About everything.

He just didn't know it.

[2]

Past

In her fourth-year, she spied him sneaking into the first floor girl's bathroom.

Ria herself was wearing a simple bedsheet enchanted so that it was an invisibility cloak. She wasn't exactly wonderful at potions but she'd been able to make this work so far. The last bedsheet had lasted about six weeks. This one was at week four. After today, she wouldn't risk it and would have to find another.

She liked sneaking around. It gave her a queer sense of POWER, that she could see other people and they couldn't see her. Except for—possibly—Filch's stupid cat

Ria wandered the hallways and rooms, not really knowing why. Maybe it was just to get away from that awful dungeon with her "fellow" Housemates. She could only tolerate their pure blood discussions and complaints about the progressive-modern world for so long.

It pissed Daphne off about as much, though she didn't say anything. But Ria sometimes did.

"Why are you even IN Slytherin, Greengrass?" Blaise said to her once. "If you adore the mudbloods so much, why don't you marry one?"

She guessed that was supposed to be clever or something.

"The only thing I adore, Zabini, is the thought of you being thrown off a cliff into a bed of spikes." She said, with a sweet smile.

Why WAS she in Slytherin? Why was her sister? A question that only God could answer, she supposed. Except with so much hate in the world, there was no God.

She thought of all these things as she drifted aimlessly through Hogwarts, only keeping the minimum amount of awareness to ensure she didn't run into Mrs. Norris.

She saw a brief shine of blonde hair in the darkness. Startled, she went behind a column. After a few seconds, she poked her head out. The person was gone. _Person,_ she thought, scoffing. She didn't know why she was "putting on airs" as the Southern Yankees would say. There was only one person it could be, only one person it _would_ be.

Ria moved out from the column, looked toward the end of the hallway. The coast was clear. She moved forward, stopping when she heard voices. Only one of them was familiar.

She kept moving forward. The sounds were coming from the first floor bathroom. She knew it was banned, and knew why.

Ria frowned, for a moment feeling so depressed she didn't want to continue. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, of course, but that wasn't the point. What _was_ , is that in this bathroom was a result of Salazar's madness, but not the end result.

The door was closed. There _was_ such a thing as an intangibility charm, but it was considered very advanced, and she didn't remember the incantation regardless. Instead Ria cast a silencing charm on the door, then tried the knob. It was unlocked. Stupid thing to forget, with that idiot Filch and his cat about, but it was a small favor to her.

She opened it. If either one of them happened to look at the door before she had a chance to come through and close it...

Neither one was in view of the door. The room had an L-shape here, with the main bathroom around the corner.

The main stalls formed a series of rectangles in the middle of the room. On opposite ends were the sinks. The two night owls were at the sinks farther from the doors.

Draco was staring at his reflection. He obviously didn't like what he was looking at and Ria didn't blame him. He had lost perhaps thirty pounds since the school year started. He looked like a scarecrow. Everyone in Slytherin knew he was a Death Eater. They knew he had a mission, but not what. It would be bad, Ria thought. It always was.

To his left, hovering bare inches off the ground, was Moaning Myrtle. She was wearing the same old-fashioned uniform she had on when she was murdered by the basilisk. Her glasses were telescopes bulging her eyes out to comical levels, and her pigtails didn't swing as she shook her head at what Draco was saying.  
"You won't fail." She said. "I know how much this means to you."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Draco cried shrilly, covering his face with his hands. "I can't face this problem head on. The man could hex me into the next time zone without breaking a damn sweat."

Myrtle moved to put a hand on his shoulder, then thought better of it.

"Then you'll have to be creative." Myrtle said simply.

Draco stared at her with his tear-soaked face. He looked nothing like the cocky asshole Ria had witnessed in classes for the past five years. This was Draco without his makeup on, who he really was. No Crabbe and Goyle or the Slytherin Quidditch team backing him up. No father with connections and money would save him from this.

He was weak, but seeing him crying and scared of a bleak future made her feel real sympathy for him for the first time since they met. Myrtle however, stared at Draco with obvious infatuation. She couldn't blush obviously, but she kept twirling her hair and examining him every time he stared at himself in the mirror.

Ria shook her head, making the blanket she was under ruffle against her hair. Myrtle turned her head slightly. Ria froze, suddenly afraid.

Draco wiped his face and looked at Myrtle. "What?"

"Nothing." Myrtle said.

"Maybe poison." Draco said, already forgetting Myrtle and getting his mind to the task at hand. But _what_ task? "I wonder if the man likes firewhiskey."

Ria did from time to time, but that wasn't the point. So it was obviously about a man. Draco had to kill a man. There were only two people she could think of that the Death Eaters _needed_ dead. The first was Potter, the second was Dumbledore. But Draco said "man" and firewhiskey in the same sentence, so the latter was a better guess.

The knowledge made Ria numb and cold all over. Plotting murder right in the schools, which were supposed to be a safe haven. It disgusted and angered her.

Dumbledore had to be told. But how?

She immediately wanted to leave, but made herself stay. In truth, she learned nothing else of Draco's plans.

That night.

[3]

Present

She had the letter in front of her. She hadn't known what to expect. It was abundantly clear from the pairing of Draco and that Granger girl that they were going to be pairing Slytherins with Gryffindors, or other Houses at the very least.

Ria had opened it with trembling fingers. Neville Longbottom would be nice. Seamus Finnigan would not. She thought George would drive her insane with his stupid pranks; his brother, Ron, struck her as a pile of bricks that could walk upright like a human being. Still he would be better than that Cormac whatever his name was. Stupidity _and_ arrogance was something she dealt with already.

The envelope was finally opened, the letter read. The arraigned fiancé's name was written in full: first, middle, and surname. That's how you knew they meant serious fucking business.

She'd been sitting on the bed.

She didn't know what emotions to expect, and they all came in a bright, colorful flood. Intense relief that it wasn't George, Ron, or Cormac. Intense happiness that she'd been assigned to a hero. Intense humor when she thought of all the biting remarks she'd get from fellow Slytherins.

And intense fear. Not because the man hated Slytherins, or because of his sometimes overwhelming temper. Not because he could curse her into the next dimension.

But because, for all her admiration of him and what he'd done, she didn't know him.

She didn't know him at all.  
She'd done so many things in the fourth year alone. And she was so afraid.

The emotions exploded inside of her, making her feel euphoric in one instant, and horribly nauseas in the next. Her heart quaked in her chest. Her brain buzzed a high-pitched note. Her breathing was so shallow and rapid that—for all practical purposes—she was hyperventilating.

It was all too much. She ran to the bathroom and everything from the day came up: breakfast, lunch and the multiple snacks she took in between.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, pleasant and round and worried.

"Tell me it isn't that bad dear."

After Ria was finally done, after cleaned her mouth with toilet paper, and after brushing her teeth, she pondered what to say and how to say it.

Then shook her head and got on with it. Better to rip the bandage off them slowly pry it. Her family weren't Death Eaters. She had nothing to fear. Not from them.

She spoke two words. After all, only two words were necessary:

"Harry Potter."


	8. Insurgent II

Insurgent II

[1]

Present

Harry Potter didn't live in Godric's Hollow. He had few memories of it, and none of the few were any good.

He had his own flat in Cambridge, in a Muggle village. Ria didn't question why as she settled her old broom behind the house. Maybe the man wanted to remember where he came from. Maybe he didn't want to live in a box, like the pure-blood supremacists, where there were few cars but millions of brooms, no telephones but messenger owls, no daily chores but dozens of house elves to foist them on.

Looking at his ordinary flat, there would be literally nothing to tie him to the Wizarding world, no indication that he was at least upper middle class.

The front door even had a swinging _knocker_ on it: a smooth brass cylinder that made a sound as unremarkable as the flat itself.

Footsteps coming closer. A pause. Ria peered into the fisheye, knowing she couldn't see him and knowing he could see her. She put her hands up, and tried her best smile. But her hands were trembling violently. And she was sweating a little.

A long wait. Much too long. She didn't stick out in this village. She had a Muggle clothes on: a sweat shirt and pants. It was spring, but cool and rather dry instead of muggy, which was odd from Britain. It'd been muggy two weeks ago, when she'd attended the wedding of Theo and Lavender Nott. She hadn't walked out when Lavender started to cry.

He was going to ignore her. She was certain of it. She'd hear the footsteps again, growing quieter and more distant this time.

Finally, she heard the click of the lock and the door was opened.

And there he was, actually wearing his school uniform, minus the robes. He hadn't been shaving. His hair was an absolute mess, but Ria couldn't really think of a time when it wasn't. His green eyes shined with the defiance that wouldn't show on his face.

He was quite handsome.

Her eyes drifted to his scar...then away. If the rumors could be believed, he hadn't had a headache...er—scar-ache in years now.

For an excruciatingly long moment, neither of them said anything.

"You've not responded to any of my letters." She finally said.

Potter said nothing.

"Unhappy about the news, I imagine."

Still nothing.

"I honestly didn't know what to think. Each second, I felt a different emotion. Anger. Pride. Happiness. Relief. Confusion. Fear. Definitely fear."

As she spoke this, she played with her hands. A nervous habit, and quite unladylike. But oh well.

From the look on his face, he was only dealing with the first emotion she mentioned. He still wouldn't say anything.

"It'll piss off some of my friends..." Ria paused. "Well, they aren't actually my friends. My colleagues in Slytherin. They won't be happy about the marr—"

"I'm not going to marry you." Potter said quietly.

And then shut the door. And then locked it.

[2]

The voice was frozen steel. "You can't run from this forever, Mr. Potter."

Harry said, nothing and merely looked down at his tea. He was in a dark bedroom, in a dark house. The curtains were drawn and the only—meager—light came from the candle on the nightstand.

It was for the better. It meant that even if he were to look up, he wouldn't see the failing health of the person speaking to him.

"Do you truly believe that you can simply hide from the girl in this house? Let me tell you something Potter..."

Harry looked up from his tea, into the dark figure in front of him. The house smelled of nothing. Not wood, or smoke, or burning candles. Like the man in front of him, the house was a void one could become lost in if not careful.

"At this point, you know everything there is to know. About me. About your idiot father. About Lily Evans. You know that I...am going to die. Soon. "

"Please stop."

The tone immediately went from cold steel to burning iron. "Be quiet. And never interrupt me."

Harry shut up.

"Nagini's poison, no less lethal than that of other monstrosities of her species. What it lacks an instantaneous effect it makes up for in...permanence."

He kept going: "You are aware of the fact that I am on borrowed time. As the Americans would say...my days are numbered. How long? I haven't a clue, and would rather not guess. But to the point: I intend to spend my last years...as I have all the other ones. In peaceful solitude with a good book. You'll notice, of course, that nowhere have I mentioned letting an employed, grown man remain in this house with me. Especially one who attracts attention like a dead carcass attracts flies. I can assure you Mr. Potter, that you will not be hidden away here until those imbeciles at the Ministry have a change of heart, or until Ms. Greengrass dies of old age."

"I'm afraid."

Harry heard a strange sound then, braying and rapid, followed by coughing. It took him a long moment to realize that the man had been laughing. He honestly didn't think the man was capable of laughter.

"I must be in a dream. The brave Harry Potter, Hero of Legend, The Boy Who Lived, afraid of a simple woman who means him no harm."

Harry said nothing.

The dark figure continued. "Mr. Potter, what you say next is of upmost importance. It will decide whether or not you are allowed in this house, in my presence, ever again. Is it because she's a Slytherin?"

Some questions take years to answer. This was not one of them.

"Fu—" Harry stopped himself from swearing in the man's presence. "No. Of course not."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a Slytherin and the bravest man I've ever known."

A pause. The man in the bed was taken completely off guard. Harry couldn't see his face, but the pause went on for an eternity.

The candlelight flickered and whipped. Like accusations.

 _(tell them how it happened)_

Like dark curses thrown in anger.

 _(tell them how you looked at him in the eye)_

Like grudges that spanned decades.

 _(a man who trusted you and killed him)_

"Mr. Potter, I-I'm certain that you meant that I'm the third bravest man you have ever known."

"No Professor." Harry said, looking directly at the figure. "I said exactly what I meant."

"Your father died for you. And so did Dumbledore."

"And so did you." Harry said, and saying it made the reality hit even harder. He was near tears. He wanted to say so much more. That the man had dove headfirst into a sea of hatred and lies and illusions, and hadn't drowned. But Harry was afraid that if he said that, there _would_ be tears and they wouldn't stop.

Another long pause. Professor Snape wouldn't respond to the gratitude. Harry didn't need him to. All that mattered was that it was said.

Finally: "Why did you come here today, Mr. Potter?"

"I need your help."

"With what, may I ask?"

"The terms and conditions of the contract."

Harry expected protest. The professor could easily point out that Hermione could help him, or Kingsley. He was fully expecting to counter the points. Hermione had plenty of brains, but no experience, and that could just as easily lead to a mistake as anything else. And Kingsley, Harry didn't know him that well. He was a member of the Order, but was still part of the Ministry, which seemed less like an organization and more like a festering sore on the Wizarding world.

Harry was ready to counter the protest, but there was no protest. And this time it was his turn to be taken completely off guard.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I will do this for you. On one condition."

Harry almost said _'Really?'_ in a hushed tone, but stopped at the last second. "Name it."

"You are attracted to Ms. Ginny Weasley, correct?"

"Y-yes." Saying it caused him no embarrassment.

Professor Snape leaned forward, illuminating his face in the candlelight. His already pale face had grayed to ashes. Dark circles were under his eyes. He was thin to the point of being malnourished.

And still he was beautiful.

He spoke, and the steel in his voice was gone, replaced by a calm, wise tone that was so familiar to Harry.

"I am fully aware of the feeling. One holds the face of another in their heart. It's at once liberating and a prison. We are fools. We tell ourselves that the subject of our affections is our destiny. It can't be anyone else. It has to be them. But...destiny has other ideas. We make...a _terrible_ mistake. Or perhaps make no actions at all. Or perhaps the person we love _so_ much, simply loves another. Perhaps none of the above.

"I'm only going to tell you this once Mr. Potter. When you reach that juncture, there's two paths to take. You and your friends have seen the unfortunate result of one of the paths. An angry, bitter man with precious little happiness in his life. Who became the very bully that he despised so much. I think of some of the nonsense I said to your fellow students...and I cringe Mr. Potter. It repulses me. Do you believe that I am a good man?"

Harry nodded.

"Well good for you." Snape said. The words should have been dripping with sarcasm, but they weren't. "I could have been so much better. _That_ is what _I_ believe."

He went on: " _Or_ you can take the second path, and move on. The pain is so much less. I would not know from firsthand experience, but I believe it to be so. You don't like the Greengrass girl. Fine. But at the very least become acquainted with her. As long as the marriage law remains, you will be attached to her. That attachment can either be a bond or a chain. Tell me Mr. Potter, which would you prefer?"

[3]

 _Click. Click. Click._

A sound. A sound at the window. Ria looked up from the Underwood typewriter. The novel she was writing was coming along at a rather good pace. The same couldn't be said for the job hunt. With the exception of Hogsmeade and Neville's Forest, most of the companies hadn't even bothered responding back to her.

Daphne was having no better luck, and had gone off with Millicent to Diagon Alley to shop and unwind. Her sis invited her to come along. Ria had said no, and didn't particularly like the relief that played out on Daphne's face. Last time she went to Diagon Alley, someone—a Hufflepuff if memory served—made a comment about Ria and her sis being Death Eaters. Ria had slapped the man to the ground.

If a fight had happened, they would've been looking at jail time, not to mention a possible riot. But the man simply picked up his teeth and walked away. Eyes had been staring at them from all directions, and Ria had sensed—rather than saw—hands readied around wands.

But forget the past, back to the present.

At the window was a beautiful snow white owl. She tilted her head quizzically at Ria. Ria smiled, taking a nip of the spiked butterbeer she had beside the writing desk.

It was raining outside, so Ria quickly went to the window and let the poor thing in.

The owl immediately flew to her bed and shook violently, spraying rainwater all over it.

"Nicely done you little bitch." Ria said, laughing, "You couldn't have done that anywhere else?"

The snow owl hooted at her.

"Right back at you. Are you a messenger or wild?"

The owl stuck out its left leg, which had a small cylinder bound to it.

"It's settled then." Ria went over and delicately removed the mail, hoping it was one of those companies keeping an open mind.

She unfolded the letter and put it on the desk, went out the room, and came back with a large sack of bird feed.

As the owl was eating, Ria sat down with the letter. It wasn't a business letter, as it had no seals. So it was a personal letter, but oddly enough there was no "From" or "To."

It wasn't a Howler, which were generally tomato-red, and the thing would've already started warming up to a dangerous temperature.

Suddenly, she frowned. Snow white owls were somewhat rare. She tried to think of the last one she'd seen. It'd been at school and—

Her breath caught in her throat; she spun around. The owl was carefully nipping at the feed through a small hole she'd made in the bag, obviously not wanting to spill it.

"Are you Hedwig?"

The owl stopped eating and looked at her. She hooted.

Ria couldn't believe it. She didn't walk to the writing desk so much as stumble, and snatched up the letter.

It couldn't be her. This letter couldn't be his.

People said she died when Dumbledore's group tried to move Potter to a different safehouse years ago.

She opened the letter, reading it without breath:

 _I apologize for my behavior. It was rude of me. I know that now. At the very least, we should discuss the contract. Please have dinner at my house, tomorrow at 8 pm. I would tell you the address, but you obviously know what it is already!_

 _—_ _HP_

Again, that violent mixture of so many different emotions. She felt ill and euphoric all at once.

And afraid. Terribly afraid.

She went into the living room, where her mother sat with a copy of the Daily Prophet. A Ravenclaw, Agatha Greengrass was actually a nurse at St. Mungo's. She would be the one giving Lavender Nott her medicine during her stay, but that was still weeks away.

"Are you feeling better Ria?" her mother asked.

"Lots better. He wants to talk after all."

Her mother beamed. Ria returned the smile, but with less strength on her end. He only wanted to discuss the contract. He probably wouldn't ask any questions about her at all.

[4]

She was wrong.

"How did you figure out where I lived?" Harry asked her.

They were both wearing their school uniform, minus the robes. His with the red badge on his chest and the serpent on hers.

"Granger." Ria said. "She was suspicious at first."

"At first?" Harry asked, scratching his messy hair. "How did you convince her?"

"I really didn't. Draco vouched for me. He said I got into fights with the other Slytherins about blood purity."

Harry was eating the spaghetti he'd cooked up. Now he started choking on it. It was embarrassing, but also kinda funny. Before she could stop herself, she started giggling, which made Harry blush.

"Really? And did you?"

She felt like she was under the microscope, and she didn't particularly care for the feeling. "All the fu...all the time. I told Zabini to jump off a cliff. I tripped Goyle into the lake. That squid-thing tried to grab him. That was funny."

She ate a forkful of spaghetti. At the very least, it was pretty damn good.

"Why don't you think as they do?" Harry asked.

She stopped chewing with a grimace. What kind of question was that? She could even tell by the look on the man's face that he knew it was stupid right after he said it.

"Because it's bullshit, Harry." She said scornfully. "There's no such thing as a pure-blood. My dad was a researcher with the Ministry before—" she paused. "He was a researcher with regards to ancestry. Not a single one of the Sacred families had people who never married a Muggle, or a Muggle-born wizard, or a half-blood. That includes the Malfoys. It's like those racial-supremacists looking up their ancestry on those Muggle computers and finding out they have great-grandparents from Africa or India."

"Why are you asking me these questions?" she tried to conceal her growing anger.

"Because Astoria—"

"Ria." she corrected. Only her parents could call her Astoria.

He sighed softly. "Because Ria, I didn't know, okay? You guys...had a lot of Dark wizards."

"Because of those two rotten bastards—Salazar and Riddle—corrupting everyone else!" she shot back.

Harry laughed dismissively. "Ria, this isn't the first Insidious movie. People don't just—"

She laughed loudly. "Really?! Are we _really_ having this conversation? You, Ron, and Granger walked around with one of Riddle's stupid-whatever-things."

"Horcruxes."

"Yeah, those things." She leaned close in a little bit, hands clenched in front of her face, like she was an interviewer. "Tell me Harry Potter, how fantastic did that feel, walking around with _that_ thing? Was it a 9 out of 10?"

Harry didn't answer, his jaw clenched.

"Last I checked, it had you—a man known for his 'patient' and 'cool-minded' disposition—yelling and bitching at your friends. Well, more than _usual_ anyway."

Harry lowered his gaze. She hated that. She hated this. Where was all this anger coming from? Why couldn't she stop?

"It had your best friend of _years_ running for the hills. And that was just a _part_ of Riddle."

Harry raised his gaze, and his green eyes shined like blades. "While your friends and their parents were joining him."

Ria stood up, eyes burning. "Did you listen to a single thing I said?! _THEY WEREN'T MY FUCKING FRIENDS!_ "

Harry stared at her. She stared back.

Seconds passed with agonizing slowness. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She done things for the sake of good, so why was this her reward? Being judged like the rest of them. It made her sick with rage.

Her eyes stung. No. Not now. She would not cry now.

She sat back down, limp and helpless. When she spoke, the tone was as exhausted as it was furious. "The Slytherins were right about you."

"Course they were." Harry said quietly. "Big showoff Potter. Fighting Riddle? Not because he was trying to kill me because he thought that was his destiny. Nope, it's because I like the attention."

"That isn't what they said." Ria felt a tear run down her face, and she violently wiped it away. "That isn't what Draco said. He said we treated you so badly in school that you'll never trust us now. Not even after everything Professor Snape did for you. Not even after Horace Slughorn helped you. Not even after I—"

Her eyes widened and she caught herself. Much too late. Her hands didn't fly to cover her mouth, but she bit her lips noticeably.

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "You? After you...what?"

She looked away and said nothing.

"Did you help during the Hogwarts battle?"

Ria didn't look at him or answer. This was exactly where she didn't want the conversation to go. As childish as it was, she was afraid of what his response would be. She'd wanted to help Potter, and the Order, and the Wizarding world in general. As long as nobody else knew, she could tell herself that her efforts had done _some_ good.

And she was afraid that the very second she let people know of her actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, that they would merely laugh and tell her she'd actually achieved precious little, if anything.

She got up.

"Please don't." Harry said.

But she left.

[5]

After a week, he began to send her letters. Ria was already feeling awful for the way she'd treated him. In his letters, he apologized, saying he'd meant the dinner to be pleasant and not an interrogation. He knew not all Slytherins were bad, but he still had to work on eliminating his prejudice towards people other than Snape or Slughorn.

[6]

Finally she broke. She went back to his house, not knowing what to confess. But in the end, she confessed everything.


	9. Insurgent III

**Insurgent III**

AN: It started out small, but ended up so big. In my other story, Enemy Below, I often said that I wrote fan fiction when my serious work wasn't going that well.

Not this time. Astoria's story has been my primary focus for the better part of a month. And all I can say is: "Shit." This simply can't be the norm. I love writing fan fiction as much as anyone, but I'll have to take a long break from it after this is done. For all you still reading, thank you, and live long and prosper.

[1]

Third Year

Her father's name was Kenneth Simon Greengrass. He'd been an employee for the Ministry's Department of Records since Ria was eight. For most, the Department of Records was a daily cataloging of births, deaths, crimes, convictions, acquittals, major parties and so on.

For her father, it was a door into the past. A literal mountain of documents just begging to be poured over...when people weren't looking of course. And with _Alohamora,_ and a good amount of stealth, that's exactly what he did.

So of course Ken had been the one to tell Ria about how pure-blood supremacy was complete garbage.

Each one of them had someone who reproduced with someone who was either half-blood, Muggle-born, or just Muggle. Usually near the top of the family tree, long before Salazar's blood purity shit started to really take hold.

You had to keep in mind family records started to get dodgy when you got to the 1800s, and _extremely_ dodgy when you got to the 1700s, but you had to look at things other than "official family trees." Newspaper clippings and journal entries, thought destroyed or lost.

The amount of time he spent researching the so-called "Sacred Twenty Eight" probably totaled ten months. Ria tried to picture herself staring at paper documents for ten months straight. The picture was unpleasant.

"There's one irrefutable truth about the human race and its 'sub-races' Astoria." Ken had said. "Do you know what that is?"

"What dad?" she was smiling as she asked it. She enjoyed learning new facts from her father.

"Races mix."

That was all he said. Not some big lecture but two words. A disquieting smile spread across his face. It was one that Ria never saw on anyone else for any reason. And that disturbing smile said everything about human nature that her father could never put into words.

It scared her. She nearly cried.

Then her dad was himself again, smiling with guarded optimism and she loved that smile more than anything in the world. She never told her mother what her dad had said.

Then, when she was fourteen. he died all of a sudden. From "sickness" the Ministry had said. Her father had heart irregularities and they blamed it on that.

Ria never believed them. Not even for one second. But what could be done?

[2]

Fourth Year.

One of the ways Draco Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore was poison.

Ria heard the entire plan from Myrtle's bathroom on the first floor, hiding under a newly enchanted bedsheet.

Dumbledore almost never drank alcohol, but was as fond of butterbeer as basically everyone else.

It was perhaps the only way in which the man was actually a snob. Regular butterbeer was fine and everything, but he usually purchased expensive shit from over the Atlantic. He only did so every three months or so; it didn't exactly make him Gilderoy Lockhart, but Ria took notice of it, and was amused.

What wasn't amusing was the plan itself. Draco was planning on poisoning a jug of butterbeer, which would then be sent to Dumbledore as a gift.

The poison itself was Angel's Trumpet. It was extremely dangerous and nearly untraceable. Professor Snape had quizzed them on it during Potions. If you so much as sipped something that had traces of it, you'd be dead before you even hit the ground.

Draco had the sense to not send it as an "anonymous" gift. Instead he mailed it as a gift from Ollivander, the wandmaker in Diagon Alley. He and Dumbledore were good acquaintances, though not exactly friends.

Still that meant going to Ollivander's, studying his signature and copying it. Which he did, under the guise of wanting to know more about wands. Ollivander's attention was taken by a customer, and Draco took the opportunity to rife through some of the documents at the man's front desk.

Draco was actually extremely skilled at forging signatures (which he actually didn't know either until he tried), and brought a blank sheet of parchment to copy it. Then it was simply a matter of recopying in a letter with the gift.

Again, Albus and Ollivander were friendly but not close friends. The bet was that Dumbledore would simply stow the butterbeer away and get around to drinking it, WITHOUT thanking Ollivander and getting a near-instant "what the hell are you talking about" response.

It wouldn't matter either way. Ria sent her own anonymous letter to Dumbledore, telling him about the plan, before Draco was even _in_ Diagon Alley.

So that plan obviously didn't work.

The next plan was the Room of Requirement. She knew about the Room of Requirement, that Draco was planning something in there, but not what. Every time she tried to follow him inside, the door would lock, and then disappear completely. She had never been so frustrated by a door in all her life. Even more frustrated that she couldn't provide anything to Dumbledore in the anonymous letters other than that Draco was using it.

He could be planning literally anything in there. He could be making more poison to use for a different drink, or a food. There could be a Death Eater army in there, _in_ Hogwarts—coming up with a plan of attack on the rest of the school.

But she couldn't get through the door.

All she could do was write stupid letters and not know Dumbledore's response.

And in the end, nobody could have saved the man anyway.

[3]

Ria was there that terrible night when entire school came out to see Headmaster Albus Dumbledore on the ground. The fall had probably broken every bone in his body, and the puddle of blood under it kept growing larger, staining his flowing robes.

His face and head were remarkably undamaged. His eyes stared blankly at the stars above, at the massive skull and snake in the clouds.

What had done him in? Probably _Avada Kedavra,_ that and _Crucio_ were the specialties of the Death Eaters if nothing else. Ria knew, of course, that many victims of the Killing Curse died with expressions of fear or shock frozen on their faces.

Dumbledore, however, looked completely at peace. No different from how he did when he was alive yesterday. He hadn't been afraid of death. Or maybe he had been...and had simply seen the attack coming.

Tears stung her eyes, and Ria let them fall. She hadn't known him well, but her impression was the same as that of the other Houses. He'd shown patience, kindness, and humility. Something the Idiot Lord and his pack of dipshits knew nothing about.

And now he was gone. Forever. There was no mulligan, no flipping back the page for a redo, no respawn timer like in those Muggle computer games, no wishing upon a star. No nothing. He was dead. Forever. And there was not a single fucking thing they could do about it.

Tears began to sting her eyes. A lot of times, she fought them back. Not this time. They fell freely.

Harry Potter walked over to Dumbledore, his movements delicate and precise. He bent over the man, and closed his eyes.

Above them, the Dark Mark let out a deep, animalistic roar.

One-by-one, the students around Ria drew their wands, then raised them.

"Reducto." One of them whispered. Who? She didn't know. But she whispered it too. As did everyone else, in the hushed tones of the respectful.

The tips of their wands faintly glowed with cold-white light. They kept their heads down but Ria looked up. Up at the awful skull with the snake for a tongue.

She watched the inside of the gaping mouth fill up with white light. The Dark Mark's form slowly began to disintegrate. Her view became fuzzy and wet and she blinked the tears away as best she could.

 _Someday, that's going to be you Lord Voldemort,_ Ria thought. _You think you are so large and so powerful, because you can murder innocent people and not give a shit. But one day, you'll have so many wands pointed at you, that you'll fall apart. I hope to Merlin, or God, or whoever...that I'll be there to see it._

And, in spite of everything, Ria began to smile.

[4]

Fifth Year

The second-year students was trying not to cry, but she was crying. She had dirty-blonde hair and a mousy face. Ria thought she looked sort of like Hermione Granger. Maybe that was the point.

Goyle stood in front of her, wand at the ready. The second-year was unarmed. She was shaking and he was not.

The Carrow siblings stood at the dual-lectern, giving instructions. None of the watching students said anything. Not the Slytherins on the left side of the classroom and not the Gryffindors on the right. Not a word.

"Crucio!" Goyle shouted.

Tendrils of blood-red lightning erupted from the wand, enveloping the second-year and sending her to the ground. She cried out in pain. She whimpered. Her body convulsed like she'd stepped on a power line. Her hands opened and closed.

Ria watched this from the Slytherin corner, completely numb. Her eyes stung, as they nearly always did.

The girl finally stopped twitching. He whimpers started to fade.

"Unsatisfactory Goyle." Alecto Carrow said.

"Already the effect is fading." Amycus said.

"Three seconds is not torture." Alecto said.

"It's a sting."

"Do it again."

Goyle nodded his head, smirking

The second-year shook her head. "No! Please!"

"Crucio!"

The girl's screams filled the room. The people beside Ria cringed. Some of them whimpered. One of the fourth-years sobbed silently.

And still the siblings weren't satisfied.

Goyle shouted the words again and again. Then the target was finally given rest.

"Can one of you please remove Ms. Gable from the practice floor?" Amycus asked.

Ria wanted do it, she _needed_ to. But she didn't dare move. It was cowardly and stupid, but she needed them to not suspect her of anything. Compassion would do just that.

That was the first reason, and actually the less selfish of the two.

One of the fourth-years parted herself from the crowd and approached the floor. A Gryffindor, of course, with short brown hair and eyes so blue they might have been electric. Her name was Annette Durand. She got Rissa Gables up and supported with her shoulder. She dragged her to the safety of the crowd.

"Thank you so much Ms. Durand." Alecto said.

"Welcome." Ann said tonelessly. She let go of Rissa, who went into the enveloping arms of her fellow Gryffindors.

"Thank you for volunteering to be next." Amycus said.

Ann grimaced, closing her eyes. She shook violently. What was crossing her mind? Ria wondered. Perhaps charging straight at the Carrows and taking them on hand-to-hand. But they were adults and twice her size. They were skilled at dueling whereas the students were—for all practical purposes—novices.

People said Harry Potter had been the best duelist among the students, and he probably was. Having psychopathic murderers gunning for you forced you to gun them right back. There was no choice in the matter.

Nor was there any for Durand. She eventually hung her shoulders and moved to the practice floor.

"You are dismissed Goyle." Alecto said.

"Let someone else have a turn." Amycus said.

Goyle was already moving back to the Slytherin crowd, before Amycus even said anything.

One of the other Slytherins, they surely meant. Ria heard about kangaroo courts. This was a kangaroo classroom.

Ria caught sight of the disappointed frown on Goyle's face. He wanted to do more. Ria felt that familiar, helpless anger. She wanted to engage Goyle in polite conversation, perhaps ask him out on a date. She wanted to say just enough for him to feel relaxed—even happy—and then stab him right in the eye. Kick him in the head as he screamed on the floor.

She looked down at the floor.

Amycus started flipping through the attendance book, putting .

"Astoria Greengrass." Amycus said.

Students turned to glance at her. The eyes seemed to pierce through her body. Ria grinded her teeth and her body turned to lead. Her fists were stones at the ends of her arms.

"To the floor please." Alecto said.

She didn't move at first, and she was certain she wouldn't be able to until one of them repeated the order. But somehow she did start forward, her limbs numb and wooden. Daphne looked at her. She looked back. Their faces had the fevered expression of trapped animals.

"Ria." Her voice sounded kilometers away. It hardly even sounded like hers.

"Excuse me?" Alecto said.

"Everyone calls me Ria." she said, instead of 'only my parents call me Astoria.' They might take the latter as a challenge, and she _really_ didn't need that right now.

Someone laughed. Someone from the Gryffindor side actually. Maybe they really thought she was joking. Maybe the strange horror of the situation was finally snapping a few cords of sanity.

Durand was directly in front of her now.

"Greengrass" Amycus said, ignoring what Ria said. "Draw your wand."

She nearly dropped it as she did so, then looked up. Durand didn't look afraid. Her eyes were bright and violent. Ria wanted to drop her gaze, but the Carrows would see. The Death Eaters were always watching.

"There will come a time when we have to take the fight to the Muggles." Alecto said, as though it were a clear and objective fact.

"They will aim every single weapon at their disposal at us."

"They have metal and plastic guns of various shapes and sizes."

"Some of them have bullets that explode."

"They have bombs that can obliterate entire cities in a single stroke."

"They have bombs that carry viruses and diseases."

"The Muggles have murdered far more people with their weapons than any single wizard or witch is capable of doing."

That was a bullshit lie. Fiendfyre could swallow up an entire continent if the caster was willing and able.

They also said "we" in the "all of us" sense as though the Carrows and the students were obviously on the same team.

"Now then Ria, the person in front of you is not a wizard." Amycus said.

"She is a Muggle soldier pointing at weapon at you and your family."

Durand didn't whimper or tremble or look away. She very well _could_ have been a soldier.

"Make her pay for that." Amycus said.

Ria raised her wand. She thought her hand would tremble violently, but it did not. When she spoke, she thought her voice would crack...but it did not.

"Crucio!"

Red lightning cut through the dim room, wrapped around Durand in shimmering tendrils.

Durand grimaced. A small sound escaped her. But she didn't fall over. And the magical lightning-effect didn't stay on the body. Of course it didn't.

" _Very_ unsatisfactory." Alecto said immediately.

"We are not studying or casting the tickling charm today, Greengrass."

"Do it again."

Ria didn't move.

"Greengrass. Do it again." Amycus said, the volume raising up a notch.

She was out of options. She invented a spell for this bullshit, but she had no idea if it would work.

"If you do not wish to participate in Defense Against Muggle Aggression, you will be punished accordingly." Alecto said.

If it didn't work, she and Durand would be screwed.

"And severely." Amycus added.

She was out of options. She could do lower level spells nonverbally, but she _had_ to get Durand on the ground first. They would NOT buy it otherwise.

She glanced at the Carrows, glanced away. She thought of everything she wanted to do to them and their kind. She thought of them being cleansed from the Earth in a tidal wave of dark magic.

 _"_ _Crucio!"_ Ria shouted.

The red lightning was thick and berserk, fanning out like a shotgun.

Durand danced like a bullet-riddled puppet. She screamed. Her legs buckled and she hit the floor ass-first. Her head jerked back and forth. Saliva escaped from her clenched teeth, glistening her chin.

Someone on her left started to cry. It sounded like Daphne. It was probably her. She tried not to picture it. Failed. As much as she didn't want them to, the tears ran out.

If the Carrows noticed, they didn't say anything. Maybe they expected some of the torturers to cry, Slytherin or not. Maybe they even wanted it.

It seemed like Durand was convulsing on the ground for ages. But when she finally stopped:

"Satisfactory." Alecto said. There was a smirk on her face that turned Ria numb.

"Ten seconds flat."

Ria was filled with a numb horror. She absolutely had not meant for it to last that long. That poor girl. _She probably thinks I'm a monster,_ Ria thought.

"When dealing pain to your enemies, it's important to find what the Muggles would call the 'sweet-spot'." Alecto said.

Ria had no idea what the bitch was talking about.

"If the pain is too brief, your enemy will simply endure it." Amycus said.

"If the pain is too long, the body will quickly become numb to it."

She understood _that_ part rather well. She held fast to a dumb hope: that they would be content with this one display, and not ask anything else of her.

"Do it again please." Alecto said.

So much for that.

Ria didn't hesitate in raising her wand.

In her mind, she screamed: _Clama! Tremu!_

And lighting shot out of her wand again, not in a single, long burst, but two short blasts—barely a half-second in pause. The red was slightly lighter in shade, and she _prayed_ they wouldn't know the difference.

A screaming jinx, followed by a convulsing hex. And Durand did both, again with only an extremely short window of time as the difference. There was a kind of morbid relief that the Torturing Curse didn't actually physically damage the victim, only activating the pain receptors in the body.

It lasted just over ten seconds.

A brief silence, wherein Ria had to restrain every urge to turn the wand on the two idiots at the lectern. She couldn't risk it, but God if she wasn't terrified of them realizing the trick.

"Satisfactory, yet again." Alecto said.

Ria nearly breathed a sigh of relief. Again, she couldn't risk it.

"But why the nonverbal casting?" Amycus asked.

Ria's answer was immediate: "It's common knowledge that the worst kind of pain...is the kind that you anticipate. The terror before the fact. I hold that to be true. However, I also believe that saying the incantation aloud gives the enemy time to mentally prepare for it, however brief it is. I'd rather they didn't."

Her voice was smooth and even. No hint of fear or disgust to it. It also had a note to it that she couldn't identify. It was one she didn't like. Not at all.

The Carrows apparently liked that response. Neither one of them smiled or grinned, but the smirk on their worthless faces was obvious.

Two more times. Two more tricks. Both times she was certain the two idiots would wise up to what she was doing. But "wising up" took wisdom, or at the very least common sense. On that subject, the Carrows were "really unsatisfactory."

Then it was over and done with...at least for today. Ria was finally allowed to walk back to the Slytherins. Daphne refused to look at her, and she hated that.

The only issue now was Durand herself. Obviously the whole thing hadn't been rehearsed. Hopefully the girl had the sense not to just spring back up to her feet.

Fortunately Durand just stayed there on the floor, still trembling a bit. That was the spell still wearing off. She'd be confused certainly, but Ria needed the girl to not be too far away from what the Carrows expected.

Finally, someone got her up. A boy. Durand didn't look at Ria.

Then it was the boy's turn on the floor.

A century later, this kangaroo class was finally over.

That night, Ria heard her sister crying in the adjacent bed. Ria jammed her face into her pillow and cried too.

Dumbledore was dead. Professor Snape was headmaster. The Death Eaters effectively had control over the school, and nobody was safe.

It had to end. And thankfully...it finally did—the very second the doors to the Great Hall opened up and the Order of the Phoenix came through like the Riders of Rohan. But that was still months away.

An eternity.

[5]

AN: Just realized segment five was missing from the story. 

It was winter when students started disappearing.

It was something Ria took notice of immediately. It was easy to notice, because the first missing students were almost entirely Gryffindors.

At first, it was Gryffindors that she didn't know at all, many of whom were more senior than her. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Lee Jordan, Romilda Vane, and Cormac McLaggen to name a few.

Then ones she recognized by sight started disappearing, and that included Rissa Gables and Annette Durand.

Her first thought, of course, was that they had fled Hogwarts. Why not? It was the most sensible thing to do. This was no longer a school, but a reeducation camp.

That idea was proven wrong during one of Ria's nightly patrols with an enchanted cloak.

Such patrols were more dangerous than ever now, with Death Eater sentries lurking the halls.

The only reprieve were the ghosts, whom did nothing but harass the morons at every opportunity. It went without saying, but special mention went to Peeves. He dropped water balloons on them. He dropped walking sticks on them. He threw books at them, and laughed as the books came to life and nipped at their feet. He possessed suits of armor and chased them through the halls.

He remained entirely invisible as he did this, but his familiar laugh would echo through the halls.

Ria had "walked in" on conversation the Death Eaters were having with Headmaster Snape on the subject. The headmaster feigned ignorance, which shocked Ria.

"I'm not sure if this has crossed your brilliant minds," Snape had said, with his trademark sarcasm, "But there are dozens of deceased spirits wandering about this castle. Which one—"

"You know damn well which one it is Snape!" one of them—a woman—had cried shrilly. "It's that bastard Peeves, screwing everything up like he did when I studied here!"

"Studied?" Snape had said, with a nasty smirk Ria had never seen on his face. "What a...complimentary view of your activities during your education here, Wu."

Ria had to shove both hands against her mouth and bite her tongue to keep from giggling.

"Why not just banish them all?" Amycus Carrow had asked.

"Not a single one of them is necessary for what we are trying to accomplish here." Alecto had said.

"Well thought of as usual, Carrow and Carrow." Snape said, still sneering. "Why don't we have all the denizens of the spirit world giving us their...undivided attention? Perhaps...I should call the Ghostbusters? Or Yusuke Urameshi?"

Ria had walked out of the room as quickly as she dared. She went to the nearest girl's bathroom, went into the nearest open stall, took off her enchanted cloak and roared laughter. She'd laughed until her sides hurt and tears ran down her cheeks.

Now, things were decidedly less funny. Peeves was nowhere to be seen, and she just caught movement out the corner of her eye. She was on the seventh floor, close to the Gryffindor common room. She was trying to figure out if they were stealing away at night.

They were. The Fat Lady portrait suddenly opened. A couple fifth and fourth years came out, as well as a few second-years—including Rissa Gables.

Hushed chatter,

"A little late for being out and about is it not?" said a voice from behind Ria.

The students froze; so did Ria. Their heads turned, and so did hers.

Two figures were approaching. Ria barely had time to move out of the way. As she did she saw only one was an idiot, and the other a student. It was Annette Durand. Her robes were dirty and tattered and she had a large cut across her face.

The idiot had one wand at her back and another pointed at the students.

"Guess you thought things would be safe with you little lookout." The idiot laughed, and it was high-pitched. Even though it was perhaps supposed to sound scary, it came across as whiny. "Stupid little crotch-spawns, partaking in a conflict they know nothing about."

The students said nothing.

Ria moved behind the idiot, drawing her own wand.

"Do you really think you can defeat Him? Defeat us? Defeat me?" His voice had a self-important air about it. "I'm Gareth Goebbels and I've forgotten more about magic than you'll ever know."

Ria crouched and lifted up the bottom of the blanket. There was a slight rustling sound but she couldn't help that. The Death Eater didn't glance over his shoulder.

"We're doing what's right!" Rissa Gables said. But she sounded so scared when she said it.

Ria drew her wand.

The Death Eater laughed. "You are just a sniveling child. What do you know of right and wrong. What do you know of ideals? Now the first thing you'll do is put your wands on the floor. Then—"

Ria heard enough, said: "Stupefy!"

The red beam shot directly into the man's back. He did a front flip, and fell flat on his face, sending Durand tumbling to the floor.

Ria threw away the blanket. The students turned to look at her.

"We're going to have to erase his memories." Ria said.

"You're a Slytherin." Rissa Gables said instantly.

Ria gestured at the man. "I think maybe he had an idea what was going on, but wasn't sure. So he checked things out himself rather than come with back up. An insanely stupid thing to do. Maybe he was stupidly overconfident. Maybe he thought he could take all of Gryffindor by himself. But that's great. We just have to modify one person's memories instead of a half-dozen."

None of the students moved. Durand was rising to her feet. Rissa repeated herself. "You're a Slytherin."

Ria stared at them, suddenly angry, suddenly fearful. "Yes I am."

As if she'd flipped a switch, all their wands were pointed at her.

"You've got to be kidding me." Ria said flatly.

"What game are you playing at?" one of the senior students asked. Everyone else's wand was trembling in the air. His was relatively steady.

"Lower your voice. I'm not playing any game." Ria said. Already the anger was starting to overshadow the fear. Already we were back at to the age-old thing: Lions vs Snakes. Granted—recent events haven't helped Slytherin's reputation. Most of the Dark wizards in this school came from Ria's House.

"I don't see any reason for a snake to harm another snake."

"Did you hear what I said? We _have_ to erase his memories. He won't be stunned until the end of time, people."

"I bet you're a spy." The senior said. "Just like that bastard Snape."

"I'm not a spy."

"That's what a spy would say!"

"Lower your voice I said!" But Ria was starting to raise her own.

Durand finally spoke up: "Stop it Vic. I think we can trust her."

Vic gave her an incredulous look. "You trust this Snake bitch over here?"

Ria wanted to throttle him.

"She helped me before." Durand said. "When the Carrows wanted her to torture me, she just used two weaker hexes on me instead. She fooled those dipshits rather nicely."

Durand didn't bring up that Ria _did_ actually use _Crucio_ to put her on the ground for the trick in the first place. That was just as well.

Vic didn't look too much at ease, but there was nothing Ria could do about that.

Durand turned to look at Ria. Her blue eyes and expression seemed decades older than her real age. She looked like she'd seen some things she wanted desperately to forget.

"Ast—Ria Greengrass, right?"

"Yes."

"Your close family doesn't have any Death Eaters in it, right?"

"None at all."

She hoped that was true anyway.

"I saw you trip one of your friends into the lake."

"His name was Goyle, and he was never my friend."

Durand smiled faintly. It was a sad smile. "Good to hear. Now what about this joker's memories?"

Relieved to be back on the task at hand, Ria said: "Like I was saying. We'll have to erase his memories of seeing you guys, and replace them with false ones. We _will_ have to give him false ones—of him patrolling and finding nothing. If his dumbass friends ask him tomorrow and Gareth Gobblecock over here draws a complete blank, they'll know something's up."

Then again, they may figure out something's up anyway. But there was no time to waste on endless theories and hypotheticals.

"Memory charms are advanced magic." Vic said. He gestured to the junior students around him. "I don't think we can do it. Erasing memories is said to be not extremely difficult. But planting false ones, that will be hard. Like ' _XCOM_ on Superhuman' hard. Like ' _Battletoads_ ' hard. Like—"

"We get the picture Vic." Durand said.

"And if we screw it up, he'll be permanently brain damaged." Rissa said.

"As opposed to now?" one of the juniors asked. That sent chuckles and snickers running through the crowd. Durand only smiled.

She turned to Ria. "Can you do it?"

"I'm sorry. I _wish_ I could."

Durand shook her head. "We'll have to take him to Dumbledore's Army."

"No way." Vic said, frowing at Ria. She frowned back.

"Someone there should know how to do it, Vic." Durand said. "If not them, they can find someone outside the school—"

"She isn't coming with us!" Vic nearly shouted. Several of the students whispered _Ssshhh_ and _Shut up Vic_. People looked around warily. This wasn't really the place to be having an argument.

"Vic we don't have time for—"

"He's right." Ria said.

Durand looked at her.

"It doesn't matter if you take me to Dumbledore's army or not. In fact, it's probably better if you don't."

"Why not?"

Ria smiled. "These idiots still think I'm one of them. Because of that trick I played with you."

"So you'll stay here." Durand said, finally starting to get it.

Ria nodded. "And keep you informed."

"How?"

"Anonymous letters."

"How will we know it's you?"

She thought about it for a moment. "A series of dots on the bottom-left corner." She was plenty good at that. "So the plan right now, is to get this moron's memory wiped and replaced. Then get him back to wherever the hell he is staying."

She looked to the crowd of students. Rissa and Vic had already cast _Wingardium Leviosa,_ and Gareth hovered four meters off the ground.

"You aren't going to drop him down the stairs are you?" Ria asked.

"That would be very un-Christian of us." Vic said.

He immediately lowered his wand and Gareth's head banged on the floor. "Whoops."


	10. Insurgent IV

[6]

Soon all of Gryffindor was gone. They didn't trickle away, like the water from a drying lake. They vanished, as if taken.

The Death Eaters had plenty of questions for that. Plenty of targets of potential information, the rest of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. But nobody was giving any answers.

When she saw a Hufflepuff come to class with visible bruises on his face, Ria wasn't surprised. Not at all. She was angered, however. Plenty.

The woman who conducting what the Death Eaters called "questioning" was Leiko Wu. Wu was the woman Snape had been scolding about the ghosts months ago. From what the students said, she was a rotten bitch similar to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ria thought long and hard about what to do with her. She deserved to die obviously. They all did. But she didn't know if she had the "stuff" to do what she was thinking.

Doing nothing was an option, as terrible as it was. If Ria did...what she was thinking, the Death Eaters would crack down hard. Even if they never found Wu. It would be far worse than the bruises students were coming to class with, worse than their tears and hysterics until the Carrows told them to shut up.

She had many sleepless nights on the matter. When she slept, sleep was thin. She had nightmares of dying on a forest surrounded by masked faces.

But "doing nothing" was only an option for the first couple weeks.

Then a fifth-year HufflePuff, Drake Mitchell was reported as having "died in his sleep." Died of mysterious causes.

Mysterious causes. Sure.

The decision was now made.

During this point in time, she also thought about Draco. About Potter. About what had happened in the bathroom. Blood had been everywhere.

 _("You were there? At the time?" Harry asked, in the present. Ria nodded, of course she was. It was a miracle none of the blood had gotten on her)_

The room Wu did the interrogations in was a remote one on the first floor. Far enough away from any main classroom or hallway.

So people wouldn't hear the screams.

Ria went out a couple nights and walked to the first floor, then to its remote corridor. For the first few nights, she heard and saw nothing.

On the fifth night in a row of doing this, she saw them. Two Death Eaters, one of them was Wu; the other good ol' Gareth. Apparently Durand's group had succeeded at their task. Gareth was still patrolling the halls and seemed none the wiser.

In front of them walked Henry Ichiro, a sixth year, and Ravenclaw. Ria rarely saw him with Gryffindors, so she had no idea what Tweedle Dee and Dum expected to learn from him.

Ichiro's face was tear-streaked and he looked afraid, but trying to compose himself. He knew what he was dealing with and wanted to put on a brave face. Poor guy.

She remembered Drake Mitchell and she had to put her wand away to stop from breaking it in her own hand.

Wu opened the classroom door and shoved Ichiro inside. She was hoping Gareth would keep far enough away that she could slip through. Better

But it turned out she was dreaming. Gareth stood directly in front of the door. Damn.

She needed him to bugger off, because she needed the scene to look a certain way when she was done.

So what were her options?

A distraction first of all. Damn, where was Peeves when she needed him?

At the end of the hall was a suit of armor. One would think with all the pranks the ghosts have been pulling, Voldemort's goons would have removed them from the school. But then that was common sense. Not Dark wizard sense.

She walked over to the suit of armor, moved around it so it was between her and Gareth, blocking sight. She nearly raised her blanket, thought about it for a moment, and walked out the corridor to the main hall.

Nobody else around, perfect. Not wanting to risk anything, she walked all the way to the shifting staircase. Still nobody.

Satisfied, Ria walked back to the main hallway, then the small hallway, then back to the suit of armor. Again, she made sure Gareth had no line of sight to her.

She raised her blanket, said, "Flipendo." And as the small blue bolt struck the suit, she immediately let the front of her blanket drop back to the floor.

The suit of armor tilted, shivered. As she backed away, it shattered into pieces.

"What the hell? Who goes there?" Gareth sounded like a medieval watchman.

She walked forward a little bit, and slowly, not wanting the blanket to shimmer too much.

It was dark though, and Gareth seemed to not see it. Eventually, she stopped moving and let him pass her, turning to face him at the same time.

When he was far enough away, she raised her blanket and pointed her wand. "Stupefy."

Gareth was really good at doing somersaults. Credit where it was due and all that rubbish.

Ria glanced at the door. It didn't open. She walked over to Gareth, crouched down low stuck out her wand.

"Obliviate."

She didn't know the intricacies of the Memory Charm but she could remove the past 24 hours.

Now, that just left Wu.

"Come on Wu." She whispered, approaching the door. "What are you up to?"

She expected the door to open creakily, giving Wu plenty of notice on the other side. It didn't...because not only did Wu pick a classroom far from witnesses, but she'd put a silencing charm on the door, if not the entire room.

So the door opened with not even a whisper. And Wu was leaning against the teacher's desk, like a casual instructor trying to be cool. Her wand was pointed at Ichiro, whom was writhing on the floor.

"Ready to talk yet?" Wu sounded bored. Ria slowly shut the door behind her, not taking her eyes off the two.

"I swear I don't know anything!" Ichiro sobbed.

"Damn. You almost sound genuine."

Red lightning swallowed up Ichiro, making him scream again. Wu giggled.

Ria thought she would hesitate when the opportunity was in front of her. That she would remain motionless, watching Wu torture a boy until the wee hours of the morning.

But no. Not really. That one _Crucio_ was the last the Death Eater had left in her short remaining life.

"Sectumsempra." Ria hissed. She remembered the incantation, and what it did. She remembered the spray of blood, and was mindful to stay as far away from Wu as possible while being accurate. Ria had become more skilled at using potions to enchant blanket but you didn't need skill to understand you didn't want blood on your invisibility cloak.

Wu looked up in time to see crystal-clear blades rush out from the wand in a shuriken that was compact, but then split up and spread in a narrow cone. They slashed across her forearms, her upper arms, her legs. Two sliced opposite sides of her throat. A few struck center-mass was left gaping cavities

And the blood...

The blood rushed everywhere. It seemed to explode out from Wu in multiple red fans. It splashed on the teacher's desk, on the student desk, on the floor. It soaked Ichiro's pants, and stitched a dotted line graph across the right side of his shirt.

The force of the curse sent Wu toward the wall, spinning. She hit the window, then fell on her side. She didn't move.

"My God." Ria whispered. She felt sick to her stomach,

"What the hell?!" Ichiro gasped, sputtering. Some of the blood had gotten into his mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Ria said, crouching down and throwing the blanket aside. She reached for him, and he cringed.

"I'm not going to hurt you." she said. "I promise."

He stared up at her, eyes wide. "You're Slytherin? B-but you saved me."

Sound from the corner of the classroom. Ria looked up. Wu was moving slightly, her head up and eyes staring blankly. Blood was in her mouth.

Her wand was far away, and Wu looked far too wounded to reach it. Ria, however, was in no mood for taking chances.

"Petrificus totalus." The shining mist covered Wu, instantly pinning her arms to the sides, and her legs together. Her face was more or less pinned to the floor now, which had to be uncomfortable.

Ria stared at that frozen body for a long time. Much too long.

"Can you walk?" Ria asked Ichiro, looking at him at last.

He stared at her, arms in front of him like he expected her to turn the wand on him. "My body still hurts."

Ria wiped her sweaty forehead. "I know and I'm sorry. I wish there was a counter-curse for it. We have to get you out of here."

"To the dorms?"

Ria shook her head. "You can't go back. Not after the Death Eaters see this mess."  
Ichiro sniffed. "Then where?"

"To the Room of Requirement, and Dumbledore's Army."

Ichiro's brow furrowed. "You're wrong. That was disbanded last year. There is no Dumbledore's Army."

She smiled faintly at him. "You are going to be pleasantly surprised."

Ichiro's face grew tight, and Ria thought he was going to do the "I don't trust Slytherin's bit" that was more or less extremely repetitive at this point. Fortunately he didn't, saving them a great deal of time.

Ria didn't open the door, she blew it apart with _Reducto._

"Why did—"

"To make it seem like you escaped on your own." Ria said. "Hopefully, they won't go after your Ravenclaw friends too badly."

Ichiro retrieved his wand from Gareth.

"I sure hope to God I make it that far."

Ria nearly asked for clarification.

But then received it when they rounded the corner to the main hall, and an additional door was on their left.

It opened. Annette Durand slowly peeked out, wand drawn. "That you Greengrass? Again?"

"What else is new?" Ria said.

Ichiro walked into the doorway. He paused and came back. Before she knew what was happening, he was hugging her. He smelled of vanilla and sweat and blood. He pulled away, staring at her. "Thank you."

She blushed and looked away. "W-w-welcome."

Behind them, Durand made kissing-faces. It was the only time Ria had seen her genuinely happy.

[7]

She was deathly afraid of retribution. That the Death Eater response would be to drag a student out in front of the remaining school and murder him. And then another. "One to grow on" as the Yanks would say.

It wasn't to be. She eavesdropped in on a conversation in the headmasters office.

It was the only time she ever heard Headmaster Snape raise his voice.

"My instructions were extremely clear! I said, to _all_ of you, that I would _personally_ interrogate the remaining students as to the whereabouts of the missing ones!"

"The Dark Lord—" one of them began.

"Put _me_ in charge of Hogwarts, Steinhoff! _None_ of you have the rank to override _my_ authority! _Or_ conduct interrogations without my knowledge or permission! I am an accomplished Legimens, Steinhoff, while you...are just _you._ "

"You haven't found Dumbledore's Army yet, Severus." Steinhoff was trying to sound sneering, in complete control.

"I _also_ haven't gotten one of my subordinates killed and the other wounded with his memories—"

Ria took cord to the Eavesdrop Ear out of the knob, rolled it around her finger and left. She went to the nearest bathroom, legs and arms wooden.

 _You killed someone._

 _I had to._

 _You killed someone._

 _She was going to kill someone else._

 _You murderer._

She sobbed, biting her lips to muffle the sound.

[8]

The high, ready voice carried through the dining hall. "But he's there! Potter's there! Somebody grab him!"

Pansy Parkinson stood up as she said this. Ria sat on the floor beside her. She could see Parkinson's hand trembling. Ria could tell the stupid bitch was afraid more than anything else, but she felt no sympathy for the girl. They were _all_ afraid. But dear Parkinson just had to give into it.

It was at this point Ria noticed something. Usually, the tables and benches were arranged evenly apart, each parallel to the other. Of course there were no tables tonight. Everyone was sitting on the floor.

The other three Houses sat side by side. Gryffindors in the middle, Ravenclaws to their left, and Hufflepuffs to the right. The Sorting Hat, for all its concerns, had formed cliques and those cliques were still formed now.

But could the Hat be blamed for that? Ria didn't think so. The supremacists would have found one another anyway, sticking together like a lice-infested rat-king. The intellectuals would have attached to the intellectuals, the jocks with the jocks, the anarchists with the anarchists and so on.

And besides, cliquish as they were, they were still side-by-side. And what did you call that? Easy. You called it an alliance.

The Slytherins, however, sat on the opposite side of the room, away from the others. Nobody had planned it or said anything. It was simply what had happened. She thought of Harold Lauder from The Stand. When and company final got to the Boulder Free Zone, Lauder had taken up residence in a house far away from all the others.

And Lauder had blown up half the Free Zone leadership.

None of the other Slytherin's joined Pansy. Not even Zabini. Ria's sister obviously didn't, and Ria wouldn't have done it for all the money and firewhiskey in the world.

It wouldn't matter.

The effect was slow, but came all at the same time. Ria expected the Gryffindors to stand up one by one, or two at a time, or three. I am Spartacus. No, _I_ am Spartacus. No, _I am—_

But no, they all stood up at once. It was a tidal wave of rising movement, with Potter the one exception. At the same time, all of them drew their wands in a slick, silent motion. Ria sometimes thought those were the best kinds.

Each wand pointed at Pansy. In the front row, Ron Weasley looked at his future wife and lover with a scowl of righteous but lethal intent. But Ria thought Weasley looked something other than angry. He looked disappointed, like he'd expected better of Pansy.

But maybe that was just Ria's imagination.

Durand was there was so was Vic. Both of them met Ria's eyes and looked away. Her letters had been sparse both in frequency and in information. Ria could only report what she saw, and even sneaking around at night, she saw precious little. The most she could do is report whom patrolled which halls and when.

Still she was relieved to see them.

Harry Potter didn't notice her at all.

Pansy's pointing hand lowered slightly.

Then the Hufflepuffs stood up, also all at the same time. They drew all _their_ wands, pointed them at Pansy. Most of them were certainly thinking about Cedric Diggory. Probably all of them were. They'd sprung a trap for Potter. Cedric had been caught in it, and was killed. He was a "spare," a loose-end, and if Voldemort won...all of them would be too.

Pansy's pointing hand faltered even more.

Then the Ravenclaws stood up, and Ria noticed that _they_ stood up three at a time. They were supposed to be so goddamned smart, maybe they were weighing their options. Luna and Padma were the first to stand, and everyone came after. Ichiro was there. He looked at Ria, smiled.

They drew their wands, pointed them at Pansy, whom at this point let her hand drop all the way down. Wide-eyed, she glanced back at her housemates, looking for support. But there was none to be had. None of them stood up, or raised their own wands.

Pansy Parkinson began to back away, arms crossed in front of her chest.

 _Well Pansy,_ Ria thought, _there's your answer._

McGonagall gave them the ultimatum, her usual stern tone spotted with obvious rage and disgust. Piss off if you want to, but don't come back with a wand pointed at Hogwarts or Potter and expect to be shone mercy. It was time for Slytherin to finally pick a side.

But Ria looked at all the students as she stood up with the rest of her House. None of them lowered their wands. It filled her with a brutal sadness. She knew, as far as many of them were concerned, Salazar Slytherin's House picked a side centuries ago.

[9]

"You're an idiot." Ria said.

Pansy ignored her. The crowd of Slytherins said nothing as they walked down the back field. Not even Slughorn. She hadn't been angry when they started their little trek. But the more she thought but it, the hotter she boiled.

"Why did you say that? They already don't trust us."

"Get bent Greengrass." Pansy said. She was close to tears.

"Now, now ladies." Professor Slughorn said. He sounded as tired as he looked. "Now, _really_ isn't the time."

The whole group walked a few more paces. Ria started to tremble. Her hands closed into fists.

"No, professor." Ria said forcefully. "I think now _is_ the time."

She spun to the left and backhanded Pansy, getting her hip into it, making a sound like a small gun going off in the distance.

Pansy sat down on her bottom. The group stopped moving. Every eye was on her. Perhaps think, they had a serious blood traitor in their midst.

"Greengrass!" Slughorn cried, angered.

"Sis!" Daphne walked toward her. Ria pushed her away, backed away, swept her gaze across all of them.

"Blood-purity right?" Ria spat. "Keep the _'mudbloods'_ down so they don't keep us down, right? Fat a lot of good that did Salazar, getting removed from the school that he helped create. Fat a lot of good it did the Dark Lord when he killed himself with his own curse."

Her voice was rising, colored and spiced with everything that had been boiling inside of her for the past two years.

"Fat a lot of good it did us! Cast out from the school like a bunch of lepers!"

"Shut up Greengrass." Zabini said. But he sounded afraid. Good. Everyone had taken a step away from her. Great.

Her blazing eyes turned toward Pansy. "How much good did it do you Parkinson? I'm half-blood and I bet I smacked you better than your ever parents did!"

Pansy slowly stood up. Her face was wet and glistening with tears. Her lips trembled. "You nasty bitch!"

"Yeah, you got that right."

Pansy rushed her, took a swing. Ria dodged to the right and body-checked her to the ground.

"That's enough!" Slughorn shouted. But he hadn't raised his wand yet.

Pansy stood up almost immediately. "You nasty bitch!" She swung at Ria again, and missed again. Ria hit her in the stomach and body-checked her to the ground a second time.

This time Pansy didn't get up. She sat up. Her lip was bleeding and her uniform was caked with mud. "I didn't want to do it okay?!" Pansy screamed. "They're going to kill us, Ria! They're going to kill them!"

Ria said nothing.

"If we'd let those bastards take him, _we_ would be okay!" Pansy swept her gaze around, wiping tears out of her eyes. "If you asses had _helped_ me, we could have..."

Ria slowly walked toward her, like a gunfighter.

"No!" Pansy cried, covering her face with both hands. She sobbed. "Don't hit me again! I'll stop but _please_ _don't hit me again!_ "

A pair of hands wrapped around her waist. "Stop sis!"

Slughorn walked in front of her, pointing his wand directly at her head. "That _is_ enough, Ms. Greengrass. That is quite enough."

She glared at him, breathing heavily. He glared back.

Eventually, Ria dropped her gaze. Her point was proven anyway.

When they started walking again, Ria and Pansy were kept on opposite sides of the crowd. She could still hear the girl's sniffling and sobbing. All at once, the perverse joy had vanished, now replaced with remorse.

The crowd was silent as they moved forward. The professor finally broke it as they were moving up the hill.

"You aren't wrong, Ms. Greengrass." Slughorn said. "You know that."

"Yes." she said quietly.

"I wanted to walk toward them myself. Join them. But they wouldn't have let me. I could see it in their eyes. Couldn't you?"

"Yes. But that doesn't matter." Ria said simply. "I still want to help them."

They walked a few more paces. "We don't have a choice in the matter, professor. You remember Nazi Germany from Muggle Studies? We've already seen what these people have done to the Ministry of Magic. Do you _really_ want the entire wizarding world to look like _that,_ all the time?"

"Of course not."

"So we will go back."

"No." Slughorn said.

She looked at him, shocked rather than angry. "Why not?"

"Count our numbers, Ms. Greengrass." Slughorn said. "A little less than two hundred."

Which, of course, didn't factor in all the Slytherins who didn't want to fight, like Pansy. That probably reduced the number down to twenty. And that was being extremely generous.

"So we're just going to run away." Ria was fighting back tears.

"You are half-right, Ms. Greengrass." Slughorn said. She looked at him and there was a faint smile on his face. A happy one. "We _are_ running away. We are _also_ coming back with reinforcements. A lot of them."

[10]

And so they did.

With Hogsmeade.

And Diagon Alley.

And scattered members of the Order of the Phoenix.

And sympathetic members of the Ministry.

And half of the remaining body of Slughorn's Slytherins. Including Nott. And Millicent. And Daphne. And even Blaise Zabini.

They came during the temporary ceasefire, to McGonagall and Aberforth, Dumbledore's brother. The former was more or less the leader of the resistance. That didn't change that Harry Potter was the hero.

She came across him as she came across the others. Wandering the castle grounds, this time completely visible. She saw more dead bodies than she ever wanted to in her life.

Annette Durand.

Henry Ichiro.

Rissa Gables.

These three people were among the dead. Vic knelt beside them, crying, cursing.

Seeing them tore Ria's soul apart.

Vic looked at her, tears running down his face.

"I'm sor—"

"It was my fault!" he screamed, startling her.

"What?"

"I couldn't get to them in time! I was too slow!"

She knelt down. "It's not your fault! It's _their_ fault."

He buried his face in his hands, shaking violently. "It _is_ my fault! Can't you see?! Can't—"

She hugged him. She was afraid that he would shove her away, and that she would make the mistake of trying to hold on. But he remained still, and sobbed into her shoulder.

Ria looked at Ichiro, with his wide, pleasant face. He'd died rather happy.

Ria began to cry.

[11]

She came across Remus Lupin and his wife. Lupin was alive but Nymph was not; he held her hand in his and wept silently.

She came across Romilda Vane and Cormac McLaggen, sitting on a flat piece of rubble, The former cried while the latter comforted her. McLaggen caught sight of Ria and stared back, frowning. Back to the old House rivalry it seemed.

She came across Lavender Brown, motionless on a cot, with half her face clawed off. The twins were crying next to her. Professor Trelawney was giving Brown some kind of potion to drink. Brown's remaining eye did not open.

Nott walked by, paused. He looked at his future wife with an anxious frown. But said nothing and walked away.

When she and Ria were far enough away. Theo said: "She's cute. I hope she doesn't die."

Suddenly, a horn sounded, and the able-bodied fighters were running all about. The ceasefire was over, and an attack would be coming soon.

Daphne touched her shoulder. "Sis!"

"What is it?"

"They're forming up at the entrance hall!"

As they went there, Harry Potter passed by. He was coming towards them, instead of towards the entrance, which was odd. He was cradling something in his left arm. Like before, he didn't really seem to see her.

Neville and Luna ran into him. Ria saw that the two of them were holding hands.

"Where are you—" Neville started.

"We have to find the diadem. Ravenclaw's diadem." Harry said. "It's another damn horcrux. But it's the second to last one."

"The Room of Requirement. We can find it there as long as I wish for it to be." Luna said. "I'll help you find it."

Harry nodded. "Neville?"

"Yeah Harry?"

"The last horcrux is the snake. That big bitch Nagini. I need you to kill it."

"She's resistant to magic." Luna said.

"She isn't resistant to this." Harry said, and Ria saw the thing in his left arm was the Sorting Hat.

"We're going to sort her into a house?" Neville asked.

Ria actually laughed aloud.

("That was you who laughed?" Harry asked in the present. Ria nodded, smiling)

"Neville, he's talking about Godric's sword." Luna said.

Harry nodded. "Griphook, one of the goblins at Gringotts, stole it but—"

"But it can come out the Hat if you ask for it." Neville finished. "But can I do this?"

"Neville, after what we've been through, I _know_ you can." Luna said, and pulled him in for a kiss. Both Ria and Harry smiled.

[11]

When he did ask for it, Nagini was rushing at Ron and Hermione. They cast curses at it and missed.

Neville charged forward, the sword shining even in the dim light of the ruined school. He ran as quickly as he could, but Nagini and her targets were all the way across the massive foyer.

 _(I couldn't get to them in time)_

Already wounded from an explosion making her hit her head, Ria's attention was taken by a green bolt of light traveling across the front of her face, missing by mere inches.

 _(I was too slow)_

She dropped to the ground, flat and spun around. The Death Eater was closing in.

"Avada Ked—"

"Sectumsempra!"

The crystal blades tore the man up from head to toe. Immediately, Ria sat up, held her wand in both hands to steady it. Her aim was decent, but the target was far away. And dark curtains clouded the edge of her vision.

She would only get one shot at this.

"Petrificus totalus!"

The mist came off in a narrow stream instead of a wide fan. Everything moved in slow motion. Weasley and Granger backing away, Longbottom running. The snake lunging for them wide its gaping maw. She had time to think _I missed!_ But the spell struck the snake at the tail.

Because Nagini was resistant to magic, but not immune, only its rear-half was effected. And it was only slowed down, and not paralyzed.

The snake's head went forward another meter or so, and then flopped down to the ground when the rest of it couldn't catch up.

Already, it was recovering, raising up its head. It didn't matter, but Neville had finally caught up to it. He swung the sword in a horizontal swipe.

The glittering blade seemed to create a faint after-image on the eye. And Nagini's head parted from the rest of the body of almost effortlessly.

She immediately staggered off to find Harry.

[12]

The two of them were in the Great Hall. Of course. Where else would they be?

They were locked in Priori Incantem, as they had reported been three years ago in that awful graveyard where Cedric died.

The rumors said the battle had been back and forth, with the golden ball of conflicting magic nearly reaching Harry and Riddle multiple times over the course of a single minute.

This time, however, it wasn't even close. The golden ball drifted over to Harry, hesitated for a moment. And then rushed at Tom Riddle like a speeding car.

Lord Voldemort, the man who'd murdered so many in a desperate—and ultimately failed—attempt to gain immortality, was not flung away like a ragdoll. He was turned to dust, starting at the stomach and then spreading throughout.

His head was last, and in it Ria saw more fear than she thought possible. Her dream was realized. Tom Riddle was dead.

She stared at Harry. The Boy Who Lived (twice, it would turn out). The boy who'd made all this possible. He wiped the blood and soil off his face, breathing raggedly.

"I'm sorry this happened to you Tom." he said then. "I'm sorry _all_ this happened to you. I really am."

She stared at him, as he knelt. Powerful and courageous, and even forgiving.

And for a brief moment, she'd loved him.

So much.

[13]

"That's everything." Ria said. The entire conversation had taken the better part of three hours. Harry sat at the opposite end of the table.

He didn't speak. Only stared.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair at the table.

"You are wonderful." He said at last.

She blushed. "Harry, you don't have to compliment me like that."

He laughed. "Are you serious?"

She nervously played with her hair.

"You saved my friends lives. You and Slughorn brought back reinforcements. And you yelled at Pansy Parkinson."

"I yelled at all of them."

"Damn right you did." Harry said. He stood up, walked over to her chair, and knelt down. He took her hand in his. Her face burned and she wanted to look away, but forced herself not to.

"Thank you, Ria. For all of it. For everything you did."

He kissed her hand.

"I apologize for my previous behavior."

She wanted to say that there was nothing to apologize for. Instead she leaned forward and kissed the man on the forehead, just beside his scar.

AN: Making a few changes. I think I wrapped things up a bit too quickly.


	11. Insurgent V

Insurgent V

[1]

They hung out a lot after that. The first two weeks were the most difficult, as they stumbled through the hurdles of getting to really know one another. Not just their fighting accomplishments, but _each other._

Not that it was unpleasant, mind you. But dating was something neither one of them was any good at to begin with.

He treated her to dinner, taking them to an Italian restaurant. The décor was nice, but the waiter was a snide twat. His sneers could've given Malfoy a run for his considerable amount of money. He commented on Harry's "disfigurement" and Ria clasped her hands together under the table to stop from punching the idiot in the face.

"Is your scar hurting?" she asked, seemingly out of the blue. The waiter was getting their drinks.

He looked at her, surprised. "No. Of course not. Why do you ask?"

Ria gave him a look. "I thought it started hurting whenever someone evil was nearby."

She gestured in the direction of the waiter, whom was at another table. Harry snickered.

Ria said: "I'm just saying, I don't have a scar like that, so this guy is just giving me a headache instead."

Laughing now, Harry covered his mouth with his hands. "It doesn't quite work like that."

There was silence after that, as they looked at the menus, and it was a bit awkward.

"How's the job hunt?" he asked finally. He kicked himself for that. Ria didn't need to be reminded of her situation.

She shrugged, but then her expression changed. "Pretty awful. We both know why people don't want to hire me."

"Something will come along." Harry said. "Maybe Hermione is a secretary in the Ministry now. She might be able to pull some strings."

Ria sighed. "Maybe, but I'd like to do this on my own. How's your job?"

"It wasn't what I expected." Harry said, scratching the faint peach fuzz on his chin.

"How so?"

"Growing up, dealing with Riddle and his cronies, I got into a lot of duels. I stunned more people than a bloke on the _Enterprise._ I tried to murder Sirius the first time I saw him. I disarmed Snape. I got chased around by a dragon, then mermaid people, then Riddle was resurrected right in front of me, and then our wands got into a beam struggle like in Dragon Ball Z. Once I got into my fifth year, I had to deal with Umbridge and Fudge. Then I had to figure out what Draco was up to in year six. Then Ron, and Hermione and I went on a magical, wonderful journey to find the soul jars. And it was magical and wonderful and not traumatizing at all."

Ria listened carefully.

"The point is," Harry said, rubbing a hand over his messy hair, "it got to the point where I was always on edge. Always expecting a Death Eater to come 'round the corner. Always expecting a fight. Then, I became a policeman, and it's just not the case anymore. Usually, it's over a minor dispute. No wands needed. Suspects see me, and oftentimes they just buckle right then and there. There are exceptions, like that mess with Lavender, and that idiot Fabio Garrow. But one was out of her mind and the other was a complete lunatic. Usually they just roll over. I 'killed' the Dark Lord as far as they're concerned so what chance do they have?"

"You think you're the best duelist?" Ria said. It wasn't a challenge or anything. She figured Harry Potter would be in the top 30 in the world if nothing else.

Harry shook his head. "No. Dumbledore was. Now that he and Riddle are dead, I guess that honor goes to the senior Aurors. They've done shit that I couldn't even dream of until that point."

Saying that made Ria want to duel him. Not out of anger, or to teach him a lesson, but out of curiosity. Just how strong _was_ he?

The food was decent, but overpriced. It was done, and the waiter given 2 percent instead of anything even approaching 15.

On the street corner, near the intersection they had to cross, there was a homeless man with a guitar. He sat cross-legged. His eyes were haunted. He was great on the guitar, but he sang a song that didn't make sense. Something about insect eyes.

Harry and Ria waited for the cross walk signal to change. But the red light was literally the longest damn thing in the entire universe.

The homeless man went: _"And the neck her head's on...is a tunnel of dawn, but_ darkness _will come, but_ darkness _will come, for sure it's gonna come."_

Harry wasn't rattled by a lot of things, but the song rattled him.

" _And I'm always, al-ways late...and I'm always, al-ways late."_

Ria paid him no attention. She was grinning, talking about how nice it was to have a clear blue sky instead of constant rain.

" _And our veins are intertwined..."_ the homeless man sang. _"And our veins are intertwined."_

Finally the red-hand on the other side of the street went away, and they got the white walking figure.

" _And that seed it grows all day..."_ the homeless man said. _"And that seed...it grows all night."_

They began to walk.

" _And that seed...it grows all day...and that seed...it grows all night."_

[2]

She thought he wouldn't agree to a duel, regardless of how friendly it was to be.

He did. At his house, in the kitchen, after moving the table to the counter.

And he was pretty damned good. They kept it to the Disarming Charm. Maybe that was a bad idea, since people said it was Harry Potter's signature spell—either that or _Stupefy._ People bemoaned its lack of actual damage, but it essentially ended a duel if it hit and the target wasn't good at wandless magic. Most of the wizardkind wasn't.

They agreed to first to ten. She thought she would only manage to take his wand one time, if that. But she surprisingly well: Harry Potter had been disarmed four times He had a knack for nailing her when she was in the middle of a cast.

Her wand flew out of her hand for the twentieth time. She chuckled and put her hands up. "I surrender."

She had a nice laugh, and Harry found himself doing much the same.

"You're pretty good at this." Ria said. That wasn't the truth. He was excellent.

"So are you." he said, but she was pretty sure he was lying.

"I can give you some pointers." he said, raising his wand again. "I noticed you casting _Protego._ " Which was sort of breaking the rules, but oh well. _"_ The Shield Charm works best when you flick your hand diagonally down. Here...let me show you..."

[3]

They had pizza for dinner. They sat on the couch in his flat with the recliner up. They watched Family Matters.

"This is nice." she said.

"It guf pzza." Harry said with his mouth full.

She laughed, sitting up. "No, Harry, I mean all of this. Your amazing victory over those supremacists."

He laughed, and she her smile faded a bit. Maybe she thought he was mocking her, but he obviously wasn't.

"It wasn't just me." Harry said. "It was everyone. Including you."

"I wish everyone could do magic." Ria said, smiling...but it was a hard smile. "Maybe then the world would never be like the last decade."

Harry swallowed. "What do you mean?"

Ria fidgeted with her hands. "I mean us wizards and witches, we're so incredibly powerful. Those Carrow idiots said Muggles are a threat to us...when it's really the other way around. Muggles tried to burn witches during the medieval times. They usually just killed other Muggles. But when they actually _did_ find actual witches, they just made the fire harmless. But when the Death Eaters tried to kill Muggles, they usually did it with no problem."

Harry didn't disagree.

Ria wasn't smiling now: "If _everyone_ could do magic, then power wouldn't just be concentrated into a select few. Everyone could fight back. Don't you think so?"

"Sure." Harry said quietly. But it didn't matter if he did or didn't. He still wasn't as versed in the magical world as the Weasleys were, even after all these years. But he knew magic was like any other trait. You either had it or you didn't; so you couldn't just _make_ someone have it or not have it.

But whatever. Wishful thinking. That's all it was.

[4]

They went to bed together. They didn't have sex. There was no point to it, when the law would force them to be married anyway. And the two of them didn't have much in the way of a drive for it. Especially Harry, even after all these years. And even if they _did,_ the day had been full, and they were bushed.

"Night sweetheart." Ria said amiably.

"Night."

There was a noticeable pause. He was frightened she would say that she loved him. What the hell did either one of them know about romantic love?

But no, she merely kissed him on the cheek and turned out the light. He thought about kissing her back, but was afraid he'd fuck it up somehow. Like he had with Cho; like he had with Ginny.

He couldn't really say whether he liked Astoria better. But he did like her a lot. Maybe marriage wouldn't be so bad.

No. Not so bad at all.

He slept and had he had a good dream. He dreamed of his parents. He dreamed of the Weasleys and Hermione and Luna. He dreamed of Ria.

[5]

They were married at the end of June. Their vows were exchanged, and the kiss that followed didn't last long enough. She honestly didn't expect that she would feel so amazing in her entire life.

Harry, however, relief more than anything else. Ria was a terrific person. His _favorite_ person. She was clever and brave and hated injustice.

Harry and Astoria Potter were among the last to be married. As they walked back down the aisle, there was Neville and Luna, Ron and Pansy, Draco and Hermione, Theo and Lavender, even Ginny and her fiancé. They were all smiling, all happy, and so was Ria.

That night, they tried making love, and they realized something: they were absolutely terrible at it. It was like trying to get an elephant through a revolving door. They were so terrible, that they actually started laughing.

Ria covered her mouth with her hands. "I know that I'm not as good as your left hand, Harry but can you at least try to pretend?"

Harry barked laughter, and rolled off her. They laid there, holding hands.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, it isn't funny." she said.

"It's alright." Harry said. "I think it's because my scar was hurting."

She nudged him with her head. "So my womanhood is evil?"

He nudged her back. "Probably."

Ria giggled. "This is nice."

"It sure is."

"We'll get better."

"Sure we will."

"The world will get better too." Ria said.

"Of course, it will now that Riddle is dead." It was a terrible thing to say, just as surely as it was completely true.

"But it's not quite there yet."

"Not yet." Harry agreed.

"But that's okay." Ria said, stretching. "The Muggle-borns show us that everyone can do magic. Once we figure out how, _then_ the world will be great."

Harry's smile shrank a little.

She turned his face to her and kissed him on the lips. It was a good kiss. They were both getting better at _this,_ at the very least. His smile broadened again. They stared at one another. She was truly beautiful.

"We can change the world, Harry." Ria said softly. Her eyes seemed close to tears, but not tears of sorrow. "I think so. Yes."

"Ria, two people can't just change the world like that."

She kissed him again. "Sweetie...we both know that isn't true."

She turned away from him, but snuggled closer. She was the little spoon.

"I love you Harry." she whispered. "I really do."

"I love you too." he whispered back. And with a feeling much like horror, he realized that he really did.

The lights were out, and he was comfy, but it was a while before sleep took him.

 _(and that seed...it grows...all day...)_

When he finally _did_ sleep, he dreamed.

And the dreams were not good at all.

 _(and that seed...it grows...all night...)_


	12. Fire I

Fire I

[1]

Ginny woke up, yawning but not really stretching. She didn't want to accidentally smack the head of the bitch in the bed with her. She'd done that before. That bitch—a different bitch—had woken up screaming. She was pretty sure this bitch wouldn't do such a thing, but no point in taking any chances.

She yawned again, her breath stank. Ginny went to the bathroom, stepped in the shower and put the temp on cold. Hot showers made her stand too long, and she'd have to be over at the Daily Prophet in two hours.

She got out, dressed, and made a simple breakfast of buttered toast. As soon as the toaster _pinged,_ Ginny heard footsteps from the bedroom.

Daphne Greengrass came through the doorway, just as naked as when they went in six hours ago. The Slytherin bitch was still eighty percent asleep from the looks of things. She might wander right out through the front door and into traffic.

"Put some clothes on." Ginny said. "We live in a civilized society."

She was joking, with a smile on her face, but the comment didn't seem to register.

Then Greengrass's eyes popped open, like she'd realized she left the oven on at home.

Startled, Ginny said: "What?"

Greengrass didn't answer. Then her hands flew to her mouth. She turned and ran to the bathroom. A second and a half later, Ginny heard the grinding sound of the poor girl's dinner coming up.

"Damn it." she grunted. She hated the sight, sound, and smell of people puking. She tried to remember how much the Slytherin bitch had drank, and she _really_ couldn't remember. Even though Ginny hadn't drank much herself: maybe two shots of rum.

She heard two flushes, and then went to the bathroom herself to make sure Greengrass wasn't dying or something.

Greengrass was kneeling in front of the toilet, head resting on arms that were resting on the seat. She wasn't moving. She was like that long enough for Ginny to think that maybe she was dead after all.

Then Greengrass lifted her head and puked into the toilet again. Ginny winced and turned away. For a few seconds, her sense of disgust fought a battle with her conscience. Somehow, the latter won out. She knelt beside Greengrass and lifted her black hair out of the way. She felt bad for calling the girl a bitch, even if she was only thinking it.

They were like that for a solid two minutes. At the end of it, Ginny went to the bedroom and took a bottle of nausea potion from under the bed. She gave it to Greengrass in the bathroom. She drank it. Then she looked as right as rain.

"Right-good mess we are, huh?" Daphne grunted.

Ginny said nothing, but kept the girl's hair back. The fantastic night was still fantastic, but all of a sudden she didn't feel that way. All of a sudden, she felt like crying. She hadn't told anyone in her family.

She thought she could deal with the occasional double-takes from total strangers as she walked hand-in-hand with another woman. She could deal with idiot lawyers in the idiotic legislature She could deal with the holy rollers ranting and raving about the lake of fire. But not from her family. _Please not that,_ she thought, fighting back tears. _Please not let them look at me any differently._

And the tears ran down her eyes, because she was certain that they would. She wiped them away, so Greengrass wouldn't see.

"You have to be off to work soon, right?"

"In an hour." Ginny said. More like an hour-forty, but the sooner Greengrass left the better.

Greengrass opened her mouth to say something, then grimaced, turned her head, and puked in the toilet again. Ginny was now fairly certain that she was puking more than she actually ate or drank, but what could you do?

Finally it was done. Greengrass brushed her teeth with the spare brush.

"Pretty sure I'm catching something from using this brush."

"Screw you Greengrass." Ginny said, not able to help the small smile growing on her face. "I don't keep spares. I throw them away, and get a new one for the next."

Greengrass' smile faded a bit. Ginny mentally slapped herself. Now the girl was going to think Ginny slept around, "replacing spares left and right."

Greengrass said. "Well...at least we had a fun night."

"Yes..." Ginny said. She wanted to say more, but then just trailed off.

"You want to do it again?"

"Sure." Ginny said.

Greengrass spun around and looked at her. "You...don't, do you?"

"I do, Daphne." Ginny said, shrugging. "This isn't the part of the affair where one of the people says 'what we did was a mistake.' Because it wasn't."

Daphne went back to brushing her teeth. Her face had taken on a blank expression that Ginny didn't care for at all. It reminded her _too_ damn much of the years following the breakup with Harry. She didn't think he would ever forgive her for that.

Greengrass spat in the sink. "But the marriage law."

Ginny nodded. "But the marriage law."

"I won't be married to McLaggen for another two months."

"And when those two months are up, then what?"

No answer. Because no answer could be given.

Finally, Greengrass said: "If you don't want to hang out again, just say so."

Ginny threw her hands up: "Daphne, that _isn't_ what I'm saying! How do you think McLaggen is going to feel when he finds out!"

Daphne spun around again, mouth trembling. "I don't give a damn what he thinks! He's a pig! He's an ass! And you _know_ it!"

They stared one another down. Daphne's lip kept trembling. Ginny knew the tears were coming...

"We had a date last week and you know what he did?! He kept flirting with the waitress! _And_ the woman sitting at the table next to us, and she was _also_ on a date!"

...and here they were.

Daphne's voice was low, not really shaking even though she was crying: "You want to know what happens when those two months are up? Let me tell you! We're gonna have a small ceremony with no friends or family because he doesn't want to see them see _him_ marry some pure-blood supremacy slut from Slytherin. Never mind the fact that my sis was at their throats every single day. Never mind the fact that she slapped the shit out of Parkinson for trying to give up Potter.

"He's going to read out vows that he paid somebody else to write out for him! He's going to kiss like a wooden statue. At the party, if we even _have_ a party, he's going to completely ignore me and get completely smashed. At night, he'll take me to my _separate_ bedroom. He's going to tell me that even though we aren't in love, and were forced to be married, that he still expects sex whenever he wants it. After I tell him to sod off, he's going to go out to a bar or club and try to have sex with whoever is stupid enough to be able to stand him for more than three seconds. Which, as we both know, is NOT A SIGNIFICANT NUMBER OF FEMALES!"

She screamed the last words, split flying out of her mouth. Ginny got a whiff of all the vodka she'd been drinking and turned away. A slight noise made her turn back.

Daphne Greengrass was sitting on the cold tile floor. Her face was buried in her hands and she was sobbing.

Ginny sat down beside her.

"I...I can't do this Ginny. I can _not_ marry him. Those...those morons at the Ministry...they didn't even pair me with another woman. I wrote them telling them what I am, _who_ I am...and they didn't care at all."

"I'm so sorry Daphne." Ginny said. She put an arm around her. She was afraid Daphne would pull away and Ginny would make the mistake of trying to hold on.

Instead, Daphne hugged her right back.

"You know something?" Ginny said quietly.

"What?"

"You're braver than I am."

Daphne sniffed. "How's that?"

"I didn't write them at all. I just couldn't tell them that...I like girls. I'm not afraid of how strangers will react. I'm afraid of how my _family_ will react."

"Your family loves you." Daphne said.

"So does your mother." Ginny said. "How did she react?"

Daphne didn't answer.

"I know that your sis is okay with it."

"She is." Daphne agreed. "Of course she is. Ria hates it when people are judged by things they can't control."

"I wish everyone could be like that." Ginny said.

"Me too. But they aren't."

Silence for a long while. Ginny lost track of time, but time no longer seemed important.

"Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"If we could be...married? Would you want to?"

Ginny smiled. "Sure."

Daphne cried again, but it wasn't pure sorrow. Ginny wanted it to be no-parts sorrow. She wanted to tell Daphne that things might turn out okay. That Lavender and Theo had turned out fine. That her brother and Pansy Parkinson had turned out fine. That even Hermione and Draco turned out fine. It was common knowledge that Cormac McLaggen, for all his faults, had stayed for the Battle of Hogwarts.

But Ginny didn't say any of that. They held one another, and that was just fine.

[2]

It was the start of June. The wedding of Harry and Astoria was still a month away. That of Daphne and Cormac was still six weeks.

Ginny Weasley sat in the same kitchen that Hermione did when she had her lively discussion with Draco. Lavender and Luna were with her, trying to figure out what to get Lav's husband for his birthday.

"Is your scar hurting, Lav?" Luna asked, out of the blue.

Lavender was surprised: "What? No, not at all lately."

She took the patch off. It made a rather unpleasant popping sound as it separated from the skin. She wasn't as self-conscious about it, as she was before.

Because the healing spells and potions from St. Mungo's _were_ helping, at least a little bit. The scars were shrinking, no longer traveling all the way down to her chin. But sometimes the stares from other people did bother her a little.

And she really didn't like that nasty popping sound.

"How does it look?" Lavender asked.

"You look beautiful." Luna said.

"I'm talking about the scar, Luna."

Luna looked at her. "You look beautiful."

Lav said: "I love you Lovegood."

Luna smiled back. "It's good to love Lovegood."

That cracked them up. Even Ginny. Even though it wasn't really all that funny.

"So back to the vacation idea." Ginny said, cheerfully.

"I'm thinking it should be on land." Lavender said. "Theo gets seasick even worse than I do."

"Has he ever been to the US?"

Lavender shook his head. "He said that he's afraid someone will shoot him by accident and then pray about it instead of calling an ambulance. I told him to not be an ass."

"He is." Luna said honestly. "He shouldn't judge all of them like that. He of all people should know better."

"I know Love, that's what I told him."

"Besides," Ginny said, suppressing a grin, "They could just shoot him and not bother with the rest of it."

More laughter. Even Luna laughed, instead of her serene smile that showed she really didn't get the joke.

There was a tapping at the window. They turned to it, and all chatting and laughing abruptly stopped.

It was a gigantic, spotted owl. Bertrand, his name was. Like Lavender, one of his eyes was completely done in. But instead of a slash-mark it had a massive and extremely visible cataract.

"No." Ginny said softly.

Yes. It was the Ministry owl. The exact same one who'd delivered the marriage letters to the women in the room with her. The night has come. The end times are upon us.

She'd ignored plenty of letters with the Ministry seal on them. So had her brother, and Harry, and Hermione and Lavender.

Unlike what Harry's Muggle aunt and uncle, swarms of letters weren't effective. A simple, and well-controlled _Incendio_ would take care of the issue. It was the same thing with Howlers. They were going to explode anyway so why not?

So that just left Bertrand. Even if she wanted to—and despite her anger, she really didn't—doing any such thing to Bert wasn't an option. The owl had a bracelet around his left leg. The bracelet was an ancient artifact. Almost certainly not as ancient as the Deathly Hallows, but given what the bracelet did, it simply didn't have to be.

It worked like a 24/7 Shield Charm—one casted by a master wizard, like Dumbledore or Merlin. Much _like_ a Shield Charm, it would deflect every single spell thrown its way...except for the Killing Curse.

Bert kept on pecking at the window. A strong bastard he was, he was actually scratching it a bit.

Ginny walked toward the window like it was explosive. She raised the sash with numb fingers. The bird fluttered into the room, knocking over jars and the bottle of sparking white grape on the kitchen counter.

"Bert's as lively as ever." Luna said.

"Damn bird." Lavender grunted.

Bert hooted. He raised his right leg. That of course had the letter on it. Ginny yanked it off so hard that Bert nearly fell over. He hooted angrily and pecked her on the shoulder.

Ginny grunted, but did not swear. She was considered to have a temper, much like her mother. Oftentimes she didn't think so, but now...it was like an animal all its own. She had a sudden bright image of a bundle of dynamite with a timer on it, like in those Bugs Bunny cartoons that her dad enjoyed. The timer steadily ticked toward zero, and when it did...

She left the shit letter on the counter. She went to the table and took out her wand. She spun around. _Incend—_

Bert saw what she was doing, and got directly in front of the letter. He hooted defiantly.

"Ginny..." Lavender warned.

"Stupefy!"

The red light didn't just break and peel along the shield; it rebounded back. It missed Ginny's head by a few centimeters. It smashed into the window overlooking the garden, shattering it.

"Ginny!" Lavender shouted. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Petrificus totalus!"

The spell bounced off the shield, and Ginny could see it was twice the size of the stupid owl. The Body-Bind went into the ceiling, making a divot. Small flakes of wood drifted down.

"Move, damn you!" Ginny shouted.

Another Stunning Charm, and this was the biggest mistake. Ginny dodged out of the way of the rebound and it hit Lavender square in the chest. She flew out of her chair, her back hitting the drawers of the sink.

"Shit!" Ginny cried. "Lav, are you okay?!"

Lavender blinked unsteadily. Luna got out of her chair. She and Ginny moved to the wounded girl. Ginny dropped the wand, reached for her.

Lavender's eyes suddenly cleared. They were wide and furious. She sat upright, looked straight at Ginny, and snarled.

Ginny made a small sound, recoiled away. She was equal parts afraid and ashamed. Just look at this pile of shit she'd waded into. If Lav turned there would be nobody at all to blame but Ginny. Luna didn't flinch at all.

The room was silent. Lavender stared at Ginny with feral intensity. Her teeth, as flat as any human's a minute ago, were now all pointed fangs.

"Lavender..." Ginny said softly. Her voice was breaking. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Lavender's breaths were ragged. The whites of her eye were yellow. A vein in her temple stood out like the branches of a tree.

Luna hugged her. Lavender's eye cut in that direction, her teeth clenched. Ginny was afraid Luna would get her poor head ripped off

It didn't happen. Lavender blinked and her eyes were normal. She grimaced. "Damn it Ginny. Why the hell did you do that? Ouch..."

"I'm really sorry Lavender."

"My head is killing me." When Lavender spoke, Ginny saw her teeth were normal as well. Crisis averted. Thanks to a Love hug.

Luna shook her head. "That was very dangerous Ginny. You could have seriously hurt someone."

Somehow Luna's serene, disappointed tone was worse than Molly Weasley's wrath. And there would be plenty of it when she found out.

"And the Nargles prey on mischief." Luna said matter-of-factly. "They stole my shoes one day."

Lavender and Ginny both gave Luna an amused expression.

"Now will you open your letter?" Lavender said, slowly standing up.

Ginny went to go pick up her wand.

"It might not be that bad." Lavender brushed off her dress. "It might not even be a Slytherin."

She bent her neck left and right, cracking it, liking the sound. "Even if it _is,_ you know they aren't all bad. Theodore is a wonderful man. Draco and Hermione are getting along well, and so are Harry and Ria. And Ronald, well...he loves Pansy a lot."

 _But it won't be a woman,_ Ginny thought. But instead she said, "I have to go."

The two girls frowned. "Go?" Lavender asked.

"I have to pick up..." Ginny reached desperately. "Headlight...fluid, for the Muggle car dad is working on."

Luna looked like she was buying it. Lavender obviously was not.

"Headlight fluid..." Lavender said flatly. "For the electric lights...in a car."

"Yes." Ginny said. She swallowed a growing lump in her throat.

"Got to make sure those circuits are well lubricated."

"Absolutely."

Lavender dragged her hands across her cheeks. "Ginny, I lost an eye. I wasn't dropped on my head. I know how electricity works. We took Muggles studies _together,_ remember?"

Ginny's teeth clenched. "No we...didn't?"

"Open the damn letter!"

A single tear ran down her cheek. She wanted to say something. Anything. But what the hell was there to say at this point? All she could do was a slight shake of her head. The single tear fell down her chin.

"Ginny..." Luna said.

No. No more wisdom from Luna. She didn't want wisdom. She didn't want to face this.

With a wave of her wand, she Apparated away.

"Damn." Lavender muttered, rubbing her temples. She walked over to the letter, picked it up. She put her fingers on the seal.

"No," Luna shook her head, "Don't open it, please."

"Love, she _has_ to know."

"She won't like it if we invade her privacy like this."

"She won't like it if she finds out in a different way." Lavender said. "She doesn't like any of this. Neither did I. Neither did you. Isn't it better if she finds out from a friend?"

Luna didn't answer. Not because she'd been caught off guard, but because she simply didn't know. Maybe this would be better...but maybe this would be worse.

Lavender broke the seal. Read the letter. She winced.

She said only one word. Only one word was necessary.

"Fuck."


	13. Fire II

Fire II

[1]

"Blaise Zabini."

The tall, dark wizard stood in front of the judge with his hands clasped behind his back.

The judge was an older woman with blonde hair that was steadily greying. She had more than a passing resemblance to Professor McGonagall. He didn't much like this judge. But then had to admit that, given the circumstances, he wouldn't have liked anyone sitting on the elevated platform above him.

"I'm at a bit of an impasse here." the Muggle judge said. "Do you know why?"

A number of reasons came to mind. Saying aloud four of the five would find him in contempt of court.

"No, your honor."

The judge sighed. "It's because I look at you and see a man with potential."

Blaise had to bite his lip to stop from laughing.

"Top marks in all your classes. Very few disciplinary notes, which is more than I can say for...a lot of your Slytherin colleagues."

Blaise breathed deeply and said nothing. He'd heard enough of this shit from Greengrass.

"And this is your first felony charge." The judge said. "Which, again, is more than I can say for some of your Slytherin colleagues."

Blaise rubbed his eyes and said nothing.

"It's my understanding that you participated in the Battle of Hogwarts, correct?"

"Yes, your honor, that is correct."

"And you even incapacitated three Death Eaters. Is that right?"

"Yes it is." Blaise said. Shit, he forgot to say "your honor." And the lady was being G-rated. He'd done more than just incapacitate them. He'd murdered them.

"It's just a shame that such a fine young man could fight alongside Harry Potter and his forces and _then_ be caught with Red Ice."

Blaise nearly said "it wasn't mine." But he'd said the same rubbish to the Wizarding Drug Task Force and they hadn't believed him either. Also rubbish: the thought that anyone would ever think he was on Gryffindor's side, let alone Potter's.

He was on his own side. He'd seen the fear in Draco during his sixth year. He was in serious danger of being murdered if he'd failed his mission, and so were his parents. Blaise asked himself if he wanted to feel like that too. All the time. The answer of course, was no.

The judge went on: "Given your history with the drug Red Ice, I'm tempted to just throw you into Azkaban and be done with it."

Blaise shook. He couldn't help it. Potter and Granger and the lot of them were petitioning to have Dementors removed from Azkaban, but it hadn't happened yet. It might not happen for years.

"At the same time, I see a man whom needs rehabilitation, not imprisonment. Especially with those foul Dark creatures drifting through the prison like a slow poison."

The judge had taken the words right out of his mouth. So he said nothing, which was the smart thing anyway.

"At the same time, I wonder if rehabilitation is even a possibility for you." The judge finished. "So tell me, Mr. Zabini, what do you think?"

Blaise didn't speak for a moment. The lady asking him for his opinion gave him pause. He wasn't expecting it. She was the judge and he was not.

"I wish I had an answer for you," he said finally. His voice was calm and even throughout much of this, but now it was starting to break. _He_ was starting to break.

"I wish I could tell you that rehabilitation would work, but I really don't know if it will. I've been on Red Ice for five years now. I was high on it even when I was fighting in Hogwarts. The money my mom left me is all gone now. When I went to a job interview, the guy doing the interview saw the stuff on my lips. My life has spiraled out of control. There's not a single person on the planet I can blame for it other than myself. I want to change. I really do. But I-I-I d-d-don't think I wuh-will."

The last sentences came out stuttered because he was sobbing. He had broken down in front of the podium, which was the _one_ thing he promised himself he wouldn't do. Yet here, he was, acting like a child.

The judged looked at him. Blaise looked back, trying to read her unreadable face. Maybe she thought he was putting on a show. Maybe he even was. Nothing he said just now made his feel awful—or even bad—when his brother Pascal was screaming it at him the day before.

But then he thought to himself, what if nothing did change? Then each day would be the same as the next:

The Red Ice hangover in the morning, which gave him no headache but a roiling stomach that felt it would jump right out of his mouth.

Going to his stash and seeing if he had any left, which he often did not. If he _did_ then it was just a matter of snorting a small amount as a pick-me-up, only to finish the rest of it off a few hours later.

Then going to his dealer, then paying a fortune. Then getting only a few ounces of the stuff, which was never enough. He'd go home, use basically all of it, then go to the bar. Often he would wake up next to somebody. Nobody important. He often wouldn't even remember the other person's name.

And he _was_ out of control, and he damn well knew it. And it was horrifying.

So he broke down in the courtroom, and the judge gave him six months in St. Mercer's.

He walked out of the courtroom. It was October, and the tops of the trees were orange and yellow and red. His lawyer, a short half-blood named Bob Taylor, patted him on the back and said the experience would hopefully be good for him. He almost sounded like he actually cared.

[2]

It was late spring, and only partly cloudy and only a tad bit chilly. It was Friday. Blaise actually managed to land a job with Gringotts. Like many institutions, now that Kingsley was Minister of Magic, Gringotts had to diversify the races. Which meant a piece of shit human like Blaise could no longer have this application dismissed out of hand.

He could still be dismissed for another reasons, such as being a Slytherin. Except his mother was a shareholder with the bank, and so she had a little clout to swing around. It was perhaps the first time he'd seen her swing anything around for anyone other than herself. From the talk they'd had after his first day at the bank, it could very well be the last.

And this paycheck, just look at it. 300 Galleons for the week and some change. Please and thank you. He took the super-Galleons, big coins worth 50 Galleons, and broke them right there at the bank.

Nailbite sneered at him as he did the task. Blaise sneered back. He thought about insulting the goblin, ask him if he ever read Twilight Eyes by that Muggle writer, Dean Koontz. But that was asking for a lot of trouble. Trouble even his mother would not get him out of.

He Apparated to his flat, and walked to the pile on mail on the kitchen table. Five different bills. None of them due right now, but screw it. He called for Talon. Talon was a big-bitch of an owl, as obnoxious as any owl could possibly be, but she was strong.

Blaise tied all five mail-vials to her. She could lift three times that amount with no slowdown. Talon hooted angrily and pecked him on the shoulder, as usual. It also hurt like hell, as usual. But whatever.

About five seconds after he sent Talon on her way, there was a pecking on the window. Another owl, this one even larger than Talon, if only slightly. Blaise let him in, and the owl stuck out a foot.

He took opened the vial and took out the letter. It had the Ministry seal on it. The marriage law, probably.

He broke the seal and read it. Sure enough. Shit.

He was being assigned to Ginevra Weasley. Well, wasn't that some shit that didn't stink? Blaise had called her a "blood traitor" when they were in school (along with some other assorted names that weren't worth glossing over) and everyone knew it. She'd probably curse him into the ether if she saw him on the street.

Oh well.

Blaise put the letter on the table, and didn't think about it for the rest of the day. Or the next week for that matter.

Paying the bills still left him with 200 Galleons. He would need twenty for groceries. He took a handful and left them on the table. That still left him with a fortune, more or less, and it was time to live it up.

[3]

He Apparated to Hogsmeade. Ever since the Dark Lord died it was like a damn festival every day, especially on High Street.

There were a _lot_ of vendors. Their stalls were practically touching on the sidewalks. There was Butterbeer and magical prank toys, like what you'd get from Zonkos and the Weasley's shop.

There was candy. Jergen's Jawcrackers, and Sally's Cinnimonfish. There was homemade fudge, and Every Flavor Beans.

There were supposed trinkets from the Triwizard tournament. Dragon scales. Mermen scales. A piece of Harry Potter's robes that had gotten ripped off when the Horntail tried to take his head. There were people selling Gillyweed.

There were Goblet of Fire replicas. One of the vendors told a dark joke about how _this_ one wasn't a Portkey. This made Blaise laugh, but it was uneasy laughter. He didn't care for the look in the vendor's eyes.

There were even some Muggle items, like Game Boy Colors that were selling for prices that were complete nonsense. But wizards and witches were piling up to get them, so what did he know? Yet he couldn't quite help the insolent sneer as he watched them flock to the vendor in droves.

An older lady came by and asked if he wanted a Harry Potter sculpture. She wore not a traditional dress, but jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt said she was a proud Muggle-born.

"Not really." Blaise said. He'd heard enough about Potter to last a lifetime, and two more.

The Muggle-born's smile thinned. "Not happy with Potter, eh? Maybe a bit sad the Dark Lord got what he deserved, eh?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Maybe you need to get the hell out of my face." He tilted his head in a challenge. " _Eh?_ "

The lady stared him down. He thought they were perhaps two seconds away from a duel. The thought of Azkaban made him turn away.

"Yeah," the old lady said, "That's what I figured. Coward."

He stopped walking.

 _Don't do it. Don't do it for the love of Merlin._

He kept walking. Even if he got out of Azkaban and put on probation, he'd lose his damn wand. Again.

The next lady, a brunette with an absolutely rainbow ridiculous dress, had something far more interesting for him. Firewhiskey.

"Do I really want alcohol in me?" he asked rhetorically, "Before I even make it to my destination?"

A brief, somewhat awkward pause.

"Mmmmmmmmyeah, I think I do."

The two of them laughed. He paid her and drained the bottle before she even put the money...wherever she had to put it.

"Merlin..." she gasped. She looked extremely impressed. "You want another?"

Blaise answered with a healthy burp, and shook his head.

Farther down the road...

"Hey buddy!" an old man said. "You're looking like you want a good day today. I got something that can help you with that. But we'd have to go somewhere more private."

Blaise's smile thinned. "Whatever you got, I don't want."

He left before the man could argue. It was either going to be something that had to do with prostitution or drugs. The man could be involved in a sting...or he could not be. It didn't matter. He didn't take the man up on his offer.

Instead he went to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

[4]

The owner sat at the front counter, which had eight stools, all empty. Near the windows were four couples. Two of them were flirting; the other two were arguing.

"I'm a friend of Adam and Steve."

Madam Puddifoot nodded, smiling in a manner that to Blaise was both familiar and pretty creepy. She hit a bell on the counter. The air suddenly gained a strange quality.

"Darling!" she cried suddenly. "It's been too, _too_ long! Come hither!"

Smiling, Blaise leaned in. Madam Puddifoot kissed him on the cheek.

Suddenly the room seemed to blur: the grotesquely romantic pictures on the wall, the couples chattering by the windows, the fireplace with its cold-blue fire. It was like his vision had gone sideways in a split-second.

Blaise was charmed now. Invisible.

He walked to the men's bathroom, over to the farthest wall from the door. He knocked three times. The door vanished.

[5]

He went down the stairs and into The Joust. Blaise had been here only three times before, but he'd gotten lucky each time.

It was set up like one of those Muggle raves. Above the dance floor, on a metal platform, was some jackass with an immense sound system. The jackass was wearing a tuxedo and a massive Harry Potter plush head.

"For Merlin's sake." Blaise muttered.

On the polished, wooden dance floor, wizards grinded against each other. _Wizards,_ and not witches. He smiled. The jackass was playing something fast and frisky, but all of a sudden Blaise didn't feel like either one. He realized that he was alone. Not just alone here, but alone at home. Alone at work. He only ever seemed to do things by himself.

He went to the bar, sitting next to some guy with his head down. The bartender was tall and bald and extremely thin.

"What will it be?" The bartender had a Yankee drawl.

"Knotgrass Mead." Blaise said. He smiled, but it seemed a size too small.

The man beside him scoffed audibly. Blaise looked at him.

"Got a problem?"

The man didn't look at him. "Not really. I just thought my fiancé was the only one who liked that crap. Then again what booze _doesn't_ she like?"

"Maybe you should be with her instead of here."

"Maybe you should sod off!"

Blaise's eyes narrowed, and a nasty smirk played on his face. All at once, he was Old Blaise, from Hogwarts. Old Blaise always had a retort for every strike. It was something he used to pride himself on. He was getting better about suppressing Old Blaise. That bit with the old bitch on High Street proved it.

But the distance between "better" and "perfect" couldn't be measured in even in light-years. And Theodore Nott punching him in the face a few weeks ago proved _that_.

"Getting some drinks in you, right?" Blaise asked haughtily. "Trying to shrink down that massive hard-on you got right now?"

" _Shut up._ "

Blaise kept going: "Hate to break it to you, but it would've taken about twenty more of those."

A vein stood out on the man's neck. His face was going scarlet. "Shut. The. Hell. Up."

"And now that I'm here..." Blaise grinned, "Well...it's not going to be going down at all. Sorry about that."

Blaise finished by patting the man sympathetically on the shoulder. The man slapped his hand away, and withdrew his wand.

The bartender came back with Blaise's drink. He smiled when he set the drink down. Suddenly a wand was pointed at Blaise's face, and another at the man on the man sitting beside him.

Shocked, Blaise turned to him. The bartender's grey eyes were cold and serene. "Guys...do yourselves a favor. Don't make me put you two out."

"Sorry." the two of them said at once.

The bartender put the wand away, still smiling, and went to attend to someone farther down the counter.

"Well..." Blaise said. "That was terrifying."

The man said nothing. Blaise drank his mead. He wasn't a fan of it. But every drop of alcohol he'd ever tasted had been an acquired taste of that type. He figured he'd like mead after a couple more occasions.

 _Better than Red Ice anyway._

"What booze do _you_ like then, Man-in-Waiting?"

No answer.

"Come on." Blaise whined. "Talking is better than just sitting there moping. Anything is better than that."

No answer.

"Would it help if I said sorry?"

There was a long pause. Long enough to Blaise to think he still wouldn't answer. Then: "Whichever helps me forget that I'm gay."

Grinning ear-to-ear, Blaise said: "If you want to forget _that,_ maybe you shouldn't have come to The Joust."

The man abruptly laughed, head tilted back. He was white, his sandy-brown hair in a very butch-looking crewcut. The bartender, at the end of the counter fixing a drink for a short, bald man, glanced toward them. His eyes were calm and watchful.

The laugh ended just as suddenly, and Crewcut was staring dully at his drink again.

He looked vaguely familiar.

"You mind me asking something?" Blaise asked.

"What's that?"

The bartender turned his attention back to the bald man.

"Did you realize it recently?"

"Had a fight with my fiancé a couple days ago. Went off to get some tail. Got it and realized I wasn't happy. Just like all the other times. I went to a different bar the next day. It was a rave bar, just like this one. The men were dancing with their shirts off and one of them pinched me on the ass. I turned around to hit him...but I looked at him and I just couldn't. I...I had a rail-spike going on. He noticed and said something and after that, I _did_ hit him, but I was still pretty hard. I thought the man was pretty cute. Not handsome, but _cute_. The word kept going back and forth in my head. I couldn't get it out. It was like I'd gone crazy."

"Nobody is sane." Blaise said. Stupid, but given the shit he witnessed in Hogwarts, it was quite accurate.

"I guess not." Crewcut said, and finished off his drink. He grimaced and put the glass down smartly on the counter.

"So..." Blaise, wasn't sure what to say next.

Crewcut looked at him.

"You think I'm cute?"

He thought Crewcut would hit him for that. Instead the man's face brightened, and he chuckled to himself, turning back toward his empty glass.

"You're quite beautiful." the man muttered.

"What's that?" Blaise teased, "I couldn't quite make that out."

Crewcut dragged a hand through his evenly kempt hair. "Eat a d—...you know what? Never mind."

Blaise snorted laughter. "If I had white skin I'd be blushing." And he certainly was feeling pretty rosy-cheeked. Blaise considered himself a handsome man, credit where it was due and all that. Red Ice had taken some of that from him. He had faded dark circles under his eyes, and he was pretty self-conscious about it.

"Want to dance?" Crewcut asked out of the blue.

It surprised Blaise. "Really?"

The man shrugged. "Anything is better than moping at the bar all day. Isn't that what you said? I'm already pretty toasted. You might lose all your little black toes before the day is over."

Blaise grinned. "I'm a risk-taker."

[6]

Though he of course had no way of knowing it, Blaise woke up much like Ginny had a week ago. Before his companion did. He smiled and climbed out of bed to make breakfast, wincing at the light stinging of the scratch marks the animal had made.

At the very least, he'd solved Crewcut's problems in bed.

He made homemade pancakes with plenty of syrup. Blaise had no illusions about Crewcut staying for breakfast. Food after sex, for some reason (perhaps a _good_ one), was seen as admitting and _submitting_ to someone beyond the night before. Crewcut wasn't ready for that; Blaise wasn't either.

But he made a plate anyway, because—double-meaning or not—it was common courtesy to feed a guest.

He sat down at the table and started eating.

"You made breakfast."

He looked up, and Crewcut was in nothing but boxers. Damn, if he didn't look sleek.

"So you're staying?"

Crewcut shrugged. "Why not? I'm hungry.

He sat down across from Blaise, took up a fork.

"The name's Cormac, by the way." Crewcut said.

"Finally, a name to go with that wonderful face."

Cormac tried to smile, but couldn't manage it. He didn't really look miserable—no man was after a night with Blaise. But he'd gotten the confirmation he hadn't wanted. Now he was a faggot. A sodomite. An eventual AIDS victim. All that bullshit. He wanted so desperately to be "normal." To have a normal wife and have three normal kids with her. Two boys and one girl. He'd take the boys out and play Quidditch catch, while the girl stayed home with the mom and learned to bake Chocolate phoenix cake. He'd tell the two normal sons to have "plenty of fun" growing up but not be too crazy. He'd tell the normal daughter the old lie about how no man would ever be good enough for her. The two boys would grow up and hook up with two more normal wives, and the girl would hook up with a normal man after the father put the poor guy through the wringer.

But it wouldn't be so. None of it. He'd go home to his wife and even if they made love, he wouldn't love her at all. And, as horrifying as it was to think, maybe he wouldn't love his kids either.

Cormac had a tight, pinched look on his face. It was beginning to dawn on him, what Blaise already knew. They ate in awkward silence.

Blaise thought about where he'd seen the man before. He was familiar. But where? It couldn't be...Hogwarts, could it?

He thought of the marriage law. No. Please, not that.

There was a muffled sound, then a sound of silverware hitting the table. Blaise looked up. Cormac was crying. Shit. Before long his body shuddered with his sobs.

"Hey," Blaise said softly, sliding his chair back. "It's all right. It's—"

Cormac stood up so quickly that for an insane moment Blaise thought the frightened man would attack him. The chair fell over. Cormac stumbled over it, nearly falling.

Blaise raised a limp hand. "Wait...stop..."

Cormac ran into the bedroom. There was the muffled sound of him hastily grabbing his things. Then a crisp _pop_ as he Apparated right out of there.


	14. Fire III

Fire III

[1]

Much like her sister, Daphne Greengrass had difficulties finding work after Hogwarts. Much like Ria, much of the difficulty was lost once she was engaged to a Gryffindor.

With Ria the difference had been especially noticeable. Her forced engagement to Harry Potter was front page news for the Daily Prophet. Ginny Weasely had even been the one to write up the story.

And certainly helping matters was the photo, taken by Ginny with Ria and Harry side by side, holding hands. And Ria's beaming face.

The next day, Ria had not two, not four, not six, not eight, but _twelve_ callbacks in one week.

Daphne's fortunes by comparison, were muted, but still noticeable. Her engagement to Cormac had been on the second page of the next issue. She had two callbacks in two weeks. The first for Wandmaker Othello in east London and the second for a managerial position for Baxton, a magical toy company in Scotland. Considering she'd had none for over a year, Daphne was in an emotional frenzy.

Interviewing with Baxton had been typical, even a bit dull. The interviewer, Mrs. Drumer was quite boring, with a dry tone of voice.

Othello however, was a different story—pardon the pun. Othello was the name of the current owner's father. The current owner went by the name Cassio, who was the son of Othello.

Cassio did something Daphne would never expect. He offered to show her how he made a wand.

Daphne blinked at him. Cassio was, according to himself, born in Egypt, lived in London since he was five, which was 40 years ago. He had an attractive, brown complexion; and his smirk was equally attractive...for a man anyways.

He asked her for her skill set, construction-wise.

In school, she'd made the signs announcing the Triwizard tournament, as if anyone needed news on when that travesty was. After that, she'd been in a fair number of after-class clubs, and she'd made the signs for all of them too. Bought the materials, put them all together. Blah blah blah.

In terms of creative construction, she wasn't much of a writer; her sister was the writer. But Daphne could make decent enough artwork in her free time, but not so decent that she could make a living off of it. It was nice to have something to show off at the artwalks in downtown London.

"What about your construction abilities with just your hands?" Cassio asked.

"My—my hands." she asked, honestly dumbfounded. But not for long. After all, there had been a good long period where she was disallowed having a wand. She'd still used one at home, of course, just not in public.

Daphne built a fence before, to keep the rodents away from the Cormac's backyard. That little bit of bullshit had taken her the better part of a month. And she'd had help from Draco and Hermione.

But that still meant plenty of days down in the dirt, with sweat on her face, a fair bit of frustration when the piece of shit stakes wouldn't just stand up straight in the piece of shit ground (she omitted the colorful language, of course). The work hadn't been too painful though, and when it was finally done, she'd felt a sense of pride unlike anything else before.

Cassio listened to all this with a stoic face, not giving her any indication that she was saying the right thing, or the wrong thing.

Then he said something unusual:

"I can show you how to make a wand, if you like." Cassio said, and his smirk grew.

Daphne couldn't bottle up her emotions as well as Ria, but then again, who could?

He saw the look on her face and the smirk was instantly gone. "You don't think I'm serious?"

"I—" she began.

"People never think I'm being serious."

He stood up. Daphne felt a pang of fear and terrible disappointment. She'd screwed up; the interview was over. It hadn't even lasted five minutes.

"Let's go." Cassio said. "I want to show you something."

Surprised, but happy she hadn't messed everything up after all, Daphne said: "Go? Where?"

"Have you been listening? To the workshop, Greengrass."

Reluctantly, she followed him out of the office. The receptionist at the front desk gave them a bemused smile, so clearly the man had done this before.

Still, it was unusual, and she couldn't help the fear gnawing away at her. Cormac had never forced himself on her, but he was as forceful as one could be, short of that. She always had her wand on hand, even at the flat. Cormac was getting drunk more often. Then again, so was she. But he was wound tight all the time. Again, so was she.

But she was the woman and he was the man, let's just make it as clear as day. Me Tarzan, you Jane, now lift your skirt up and show me the goods.

But she wouldn't. She never would. And he knew it, and the nerves in that tiny brain of his grew tighter still.

Eventually they would snap. And when they did...

But she didn't want to think about that.

Cassio showed her how to make a wand, and the process was beautiful.

[2]

Daphne didn't expect to be offered the job. It was—after all—only the second interview she'd had since Hogwarts.

But offered she was. And of course she accepted.

[3]

Daphne had only been at Wandmaker Othello as an apprentice for two weeks when The Great Change happened. She didn't know what brought it about—not until later, anyways

She was back at home now, eating the leftover homemade bratwurst from yesterday. Cormac hadn't been there of course, or the day before. She'd moved through the empty house with the lightness of an ice skater sticking all the landings.

She'd called Ginny, who had only a few articles due that night. Of course the amazing woman had them all done before even mid-afternoon. Which left them plenty of time to get dinner.

After that, they'd gone to Daphne's flat. Cormac wasn't there. They'd had a huge fight the day before. And when that happened, he was gone for a few days.

But neither of them were stupid. They had watched Muggle sitcoms, both wizard and not. This kind of setup always ended up with the Assumed Absent person in question coming through the front door, often with a change of heart as to whatever the previous argument was.

So they had sat and watched TV, flirting, making stupid jokes, flirting, and giggling. They popped open a bottle of wine, sipped it. It was, of course, terrible as all wine was.

The flirting became less jokey, more sincere. The previous session they had played back and forth in Daphne's head, and she felt a warmth not entirely from the awful wine.

Their restless hands wandered toward one another. The flirting jokes became sincere, exciting promises.

Then they couldn't help it anymore. They went to Daphne's separate bedroom. They made out. Then made love. Then slept.

[4]

Ginny wasn't there when Daphne woke up. It was understandable, yet somehow Daphne was still hurt. But not so hurt that she didn't take the bedsheets to the wash and have them dried, hopefully before her fiancé came back home.

She washed herself up, looked in the mirror. She greatly resembled Ria in a lot of ways: with a slender figure and dark brown hair that was nearly black. But her face was plumper, chubbier if that was the right word. Otherwise, they were often confused for twins. At least until Ria opened her mouth and gave her opinions, then nobody could confuse them. Daphne was actually the more extroverted of the two. As a result of that, and Ria's "outspokenness" Daphne had some friends in Slytherin. But when they didn't trigger her, it was like she was a different person, keeping to herself, reading books.

Same thing with the family reunions. Ria was usually quiet and Daphne would be talking to distant relatives two at a time. Until somebody said something about the "mudbloods" and then you could practically _hear_ the gates of hell opening.

It bothered her mother. Not because she didn't agree with Ria, but because it meant family reunions had an unpleasant tinge of tension to them. Their cousins, aunts, and uncles all walked on eggshells around Ria. Their maternal grandfather, Pritchard Greengrass, was an old traditionalist asshole who thought women should be seen and not heard.

Ria had laughed openly at him. "Really?! Are we really having this conversation?!"

All talk had stopped. Those words were the first Ria had said that entire family reunion. Daphne was sitting on the couch with a second cousin and saying nothing, her hand over her mouth.

"You're going to talk about to us about 'traditional values'? Or were all those bastard children with your maids just a figment of my imagination?"

After that their grandfather had actually drawn his wand on her. Their mother didn't think he meant to curse Ria, only to scare her. She would swear up and down that that was the case.

But Ria had drawn her own wand, and of course she had no interests in bluffs or threats.

And the next thing Pritchard knew, he was on the ground, arms and legs fastened to his sides as though bound in chains.

The spectacle had outraged the family members, and brought their mother Agatha to tears.

"Why?! Why do you do these things Astoria?"

Daphne knew why.

Because her sister was brave...and she was not.

[5]

In the end, she didn't have to worry, because it was well past six in the evening by the time the fireplace pulsed with green light and Cormac came through.

"Hey." he said flatly.

"Hey." she answered back, and then waited for him to talk about work. Cormac was Keeper for the Kenmare Kestrals. He was significantly better than in his days at Hogwarts, where he choked much more often than he would ever admit. Just last week, he'd achieved a "blockade" against the Montrose Magpies and he'd been bragging about it ever since.

When he was done bragging about a sport Daphne had little to no interest in, he'd start going for the personal cuts. I met this wonderful Mexican _chica_. This amazing Jamaican woman. This fine Belgian piece of ass. This cute Russian/French bitch. What did we do, you ask? (She never did). Oh, nothing really. Nothing important. Nothing you need to worry about. Nothing you need to think about at night. But it was a good time. That's all I'll say.

And that was all he ever did say, never going into the specific details. Apparently thinking that she was lying awake at night crying over all the nasty, dirty things he did with these women—or the thoughts of them. Never mind the very real possibly that the women were complete fabrications (which was where Daphne's fictional betting money would be at).

Rather, he could have been just lying about the _events_ of the night. That instead of spreading out for him, the Mexican _chica_ through her firewhiskey over the Cormac's face and ran off; the Jamaican girl pepper spraying him in the face; the fine Belgian piece of ass kicking him in the balls; the French/Russian comrade body-slamming him through the table, standing up and saying "Workers of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains!"

She did lie awake at night; she did cry. But obviously not for him.

But now—right now—Cormac did none of that. Absolutely none of any of it. He didn't announce the results of the game a few days ago. He didn't brag about any woman he'd been with last night.

He sat down _plop_ on the couch, on the farthest spot from here. He took the remote and changed the channel from what she'd been watching. He said nothing.

And that was all.

Something...wasn't right. She sensed it like you might sense in incoming thunderstorm. But it wasn't exactly like that either.

The air between them was always unpleasant—thick and stuffy with the sound of awful, unsaid things. And while the tension between them was obviously still there, the quality of that tension was just...different...

She didn't know what to say. The words "I missed you yesterday" came to mind, but of course they weren't the right ones. She nor more missed him than the Death Eaters.

"You...alright?"

"Sure."

"Bad day at work?"

"No."

"Something bad happened _after_ work?"

"No."

She didn't want to press him further. She knew he was lying anyway. _Something_ had surely happened.

Cormac went to get himself a Coke. He sipped it carefully, burping occasionally. He was a burper, yet another thing she disliked about him. But other than that, his face was completely calm.

No.

Not completely calm.

His jaw was tightly set. And when he, picked up the remote, his hand was shaking.

What the hell happened?

Maybe someone had attacked him or something. But if that was the case, the Aurors would notified her, especially if he was attacked for being engaged to her. And if that was the case, well...Cormac was fit if nothing else. And while he probably couldn't take an Auror—let alone Potter—Daphne thought he could take most anyone else.

And if that was the case, he'd be bragging about it certainly.

Or maybe a death in his immediate family. His mother or father. He didn't have any siblings, fortunately for them. But if that was the case, Daphne felt she would've been notified of that too. And she really didn't think—or hoped anyway—that Cormac wouldn't keep something like _that_ from her right?

Or maybe he would, because they hated one another that much...

And at last, Cormac had achieved the very thing he'd been reaching for, bragging about all those possibly-fictional women: she was worried about him. What hadhe been doing? It was like the man had replaced with an alien clone or some rubbish like that.

What had he been doing?

She moved restlessly on the couch. He didn't notice.

What had he been doing?

She fidgeted with her hands.

What had he been doing?

What had he been doing?

What had he been doing?

What had—

At last she couldn't take it anymore. She got off the couch.

"I have to go."

Going to mom's house, that was what she was going to say. Her mom was sick and needed Daphne to pick up something. Medicine that was it. From Diagon Alley. The time got away from her (on a weekend? Really Daphne?) and she only just remembered, and now that she thought of it her mother was really bad off so she might have to stay the—

He looked at her. What she saw on his face stopped all the excuses cold.

"Cormac..." she struggled to find words. "I..."

Finally: "What happened?"

Tears beaded in his eyes. He wiped them away. When he looked at her, his eyes were clear. But his face was a rictus of pain, the tense muscles in his face were in sharp relief.

"Nothing happened." His voice was breaking. "I told you that already."

"I know you did." she said. "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Did somebody die? Is that it?"

Cormac closed his eyes. He looked like he was two seconds away from losing it. And that was fine. She herself had lost it weeks ago.

"Did somebody threaten you? Attack you?"

A violent shake of the head.

"Did _you_ attack somebody? Did you kill somebody?"

Dear God, let it not be that. As much as she didn't care for him, she didn't want him to spend years in Azkaban, Dementors or not.

Another violent shake.

"Then what is it?"

Just another shake of the head. Not even an answer.

"Why can't you just be honest with me for once!" she yelled, suddenly furious. "You talk all this big shot bullshit about all the 'blockades' you do on the enemy teams, when you know damn well I don't watch the sport! You talk so much shit about all these women you 'claim' that you're banging when I don't even have names for them!"

She thought there would be an explosion. A scream, a shriek. That he would pick up something and throw it at her. Then she would lose it and starting throwing things at him. Maybe they would even start dueling. It might even be better like that—a kind of therapy.

"What the hell do you even care? You hate me! I could die tomorrow and you wouldn't care at all!"

"That isn't true." she said quietly.

Except it was, almost entirely.

"I do care about you a little." she said, just as quiet. "I care enough that I don't want bad things to happen to you. I care enough that I wish you were a better person. A _happier_ person who didn't have to talk a bunch of bullshit in order to make himself feel better."

"At least I _do_ talk." Cormac hissed. "Every time I'm here, the furniture talks more than you do."

"What the hell do you want me to say?" she shot back. "You want me to say I care about Quidditch? I don't. You want me to say I'm jealous of all those women you say you're banging? I'm not."

Cormac looked wounded. "Right, because I'm that repulsive?"

Daphne didn't answer. Her fists were stones at her sides.

Cormac took a step forward. "I'm that ghastly." Another step. "I'm that hideous." Another. "I'm that repugnant." Another. "I'm that grotesque."

Soon, he was right in front of her. Their noses nearly touched. His breath was stale and hot with alcohol. His eyes were wide and miserable. She'd gone from worried to terrified.

"What should we do about that then, Mrs. McLaggen-to-be? Because I have an idea."

Hand trembling, she took her wand out and jabbed it into his stomach.

Cormac paid it no mind. It was like she was jabbing him with a paperback book.

"Go out and screw a man. Any man, whatever kind you like. No, scratch that. Fuck the absolute shit out of him. Break his damn pelvis. You know why?"

Daphne breaths were frantic and ragged, nostrils flaring.

"Because _I_ wouldn't be jealous of _him_."

And with that, he turned and walked into his separate bedroom and slammed the door.

Trembling, near tears, Daphne Apparated to Potter's house, where Ria was.

[6]

He couldn't stop crying.


	15. Fire IV

Fire IV

[1]

She was fastened to a chair and bleeding.

And she didn't know if she'd make it through the hour alive.

The Death Eater in front of her was a pudgy man, with a neckbeard and glasses.

"Ms. Weasley, you are making this far more difficult than it needs to be."

Ginny said nothing. She didn't want to look at the man, because doing so made her want to rip a door off its hinges. But she also didn't want to stare down at the desk between them; that would make her think she was broken and she was not.

Not yet.

"What we want is extremely simple." the Death Eater said with a tone that was almost jovial.

Ginny said nothing. The room they were in was the office to the Dark Arts teacher. The Carrow twins had the door charmed with an advanced locking spell that not even Alohomora could get through. The room itself was equally soundproofed.

Nobody would be able to hear her scream.

"Even if it wasn't simple," the man went on. "This particular step most certainly would be."

He leaned forward in his chair.

"I want you to tell me where Harry Potter is."

Funny how a bunch of middle-aged men could be so afraid of one boy who wasn't even a legal adult until a few weeks ago.

That was what she _thought._ She said nothing. It wouldn't do her any good.

"Come now, Ms. Weasley." the man kept his jovial tone, but now it was no longer in his eyes, assuming it had been there to begin with. "Think of all the perks you could get for this. The bonuses."

Bonuses? Like not being detained against her will with no due process?

"Your family is indeed poor. Anyone with any sense knows that it isn't your fault." the Death Eater said sympathetically. "Some people have more money than others. Not every job is going to be lucrative. My family, after all, came from a long line of pig farmers."

What the hell would she _care_?

"But that doesn't matter Ms. Weasley." he said. "What _does_ matter is that your family is pure. All the offspring your ancestors had and not a single drop of muddy blood in the whole lot."

That wasn't true at all, though Ginny had no way of knowing that. Not until she talked to Astoria Greengrass, and that particular discussion was years away.

"People like us. Like you and the Longbottoms, we are so damn _valuable_."

He clenched his hands in front of his face when he said this. He was no longer smiling. She couldn't place the expression on his face. He didn't even look like a madman. His expression was alien to her—unknowable.

"We're like gold, or platinum. Have you heard of platinum?"

She wasn't big on jewelry.

When she didn't answer, he said: "I want to show you something. My secret weapon, as it were."

One hand disappeared below the desk. She tensed, expecting him to reveal a weapon. But when the hand came back up it was nothing more lethal than a single sheet of parchment.

"Have you heard of the Dragovich Experiment?"

No answer. He placed the parchment on the desk and turned it around so that it was facing her. Her chair was close enough to the desk, that she could've read it. But for reasons that were fairly obvious, she decided not to.

"Nikita Dragovich is a Ukrainian wizard, not a Death Eater. He took 60 children from the country. 20 of them were mudbloods, another 20 were halfies like Potter, and the final 20 were pure-bloods like you and me. They tested the 60 children in the all the wizarding subjects that actually matter: Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and the Dark Arts."

That last part made her wince. Ginny wondered—with more than a small pang of horror—how many of the parents signed consent forms for that little experiment.

"And do you know what they found?" the Death Eater asked. And Ginny gave him the first of only two responses for this little interrogation: an apathetic shrug.

He smiled broadly, as if she was genuinely curious.

"They found that the pure-blooded children scored significantly higher than the halfies. Their cumulative scores of the former were 20 percent higher than that of the latter. 20 percent Ms. Weasley. That's a big difference. And that's not even talking about how they scored in comparison to the mudbloods. Do you know how they compared?"

No answer.

"They destroyed the mudbloods in all the tests, Ms. Weasley. It was a massacre."

The man was getting visibly excited now.

"The cumulative was a 40 percent difference. Even the worst pure-blood scored much better than even the best mudblood...if there is such a thing."

He laughed at his own joke, smacking one hand on the desk. He was sputtering saliva all over the desk and the parchment. There was even snot running down his nose. Ginny had never seen anything so absolutely disgusting. But even with her disgust she couldn't help but notice a few things wrong with the man's secret weapon:

For starters, it was a sociological study, not a scientific one. So by its very nature, nothing in it was absolutely ironclad. They weren't lighting up atoms, or running a current through a metal to magnetize it, or figuring how to change a bird into a silver up without mangling it.

These were humans. With hundreds of additions that produced the sum. Did the kids all come from a similar background of middle-class, educated, non-abusive parents? That was three factors right there.

Did they all come from the same area?

Did they go to the same school?

Did they know from birth that they were magical, like herself, or were they told at the last second like Harry?

Here's another one: how were they treated by the staff running the experiment? Were the pure-bloods given special treatment in full-view of the others? Were the staff quick to criticize the "mudbloods?"

And what about repeat performances? 60 kids was a decent enough sample size, but it was just one experiment that probably didn't even last two months. Did they round up 60 other kids in different countries and test them too? Or were they satisfied that this showed them what they wanted to see?

The man was finally almost done laughing. He was wiping tears out of his eyes. "Oh, Merlin. I'm sorry, Ms. Weasley, I'm just in a grand mood."

Well, good for him.

"So what is your response?"

For a moment, she was completely unable to hide the grin on her face. The man had left himself so exposed, it was like a snail had jumped out of its shell.

She said her next words very carefully. "Oink. Oink."

His smug grin disappeared instantly.

And that was when he began to torture her.

[2]

Ginny woke up with a scream trapped in her throat, and her fists clenched in front of her face like she was ready for a brawl. Tears ran down her eyes.

The fear began to slowly ebb away. She looked around, trying to remember where she was. She was in Cormac's flat and it was Saturday morning. Daphne was still out beside her, because of _course_ she'd drank more of the wine.

She looked at the calendar beside the bed. It was magical, and would automatically turn the page to the next month. It was Saturday.

Ginny couldn't hear whether or not that idiot Cormac was in the other room. She had to assume he was and be careful.

She got dressed. She took up her wand and cast a Silencing Charm in the room. Then Apparated with a pop that disturbed Daphne but did not wake her.

Her mother was waiting for her for her in the kitchen, sitting on one of the dining table chairs. They locked eyes and Ginny's blood ran cold. She knew immediately that it was going to be an argument.

"I have to cover the Harpies game today." Ginny said hurriedly, and started walking to the bedroom.

"Ginevra, please sit down." Molly said.

Merlin. _Ginevra_ and not _Ginny._ It was going to be a fight indeed.

"I really don't have time to talk mom." she said. "The game is less than an hour away."

Indeed it was. It was a miracle she hadn't overslept.

She managed two more steps.

"Ginevra Weasley!" Molly cried out, and Ginny winced. Sighing, she marched to one of the chairs and sat down.

"When were you going to tell me?" Molly asked.

"What?" Ginny said with false innocence. "About the game? Mom, you don't like either team, I didn't think you cared. When it's proofed and published, I can get you a copy, no problem."

"Ginny..."

"In fact, I could sign you on for a subscription at a discount. I know you don't have one anymore, thanks to Fudge but—"

"Ginny!" Molly shouted. "Stop trying to avoid the subject!"

Ginny leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "I got the letter a few days ago."

"Did you even bother opening it?"

"Mom, you already know that I didn't." Ginny rubbed her eyes. "So who is it?"

"Some guy named Blasey Zabini." Molly said. "Something like that. He's sent a letter recently. Do you know him?"

Ginny slammed her fists on the table, making her mother jump.

"Damn it!"

"Ginevra!"

"Of course I know him." Ginny spat. "He was in Slytherin. He was a total jackass. A complete jerk. Another one of those blood purity idiots.

She saw the look on her mother's face.

"Let me guess," Ginny said. "You're going to tell me how he's reformed, right? Just like Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy."

"I've talked to both of them, now." Molly said. "They were broken people, Ginny. Do you understand that? That people can change? Or do you really think your brother is in love with a blood purity idiot?

Ginny said nothing.

"How about two of your three best friends?"

Still nothing.

"Have you met Harry's fiancé?" Molly asked.

Ginny had not. Why would Harry want to talk to her anyway, after she'd broken up with him? The poor guy was probably still blaming himself for that one.

"She's as anti-blood purity as they come." Molly said. "I think she could even give this family a run for our money."

Daphne said something similar. Quite often as a matter of fact. Ginny would believe that when she saw it.

"Zabini isn't like that." Ginny said. "He's not some broken soul, mom."

"He fought at the Battle of Hogwarts."

"So did Romilda Vane." Ginny said. "She's still a stuck-up twat. Same with Cormac McLaggen. Lord Voldemort killed on a whim, mom. The Malfoys knew it. The goblins at Gringotts knew it. And probably nobody knew it better than Professor Snape. That doesn't make any of them good people."

"Fighting to prevent the world from being taken over by a madman doesn't make them good people?" her mother asked.

Ginny sighed and put her head in her hands.

"Just get to know him Ginny, that's all I'm asking." Molly's eyes were earnest, genuine. "I'm thinking he might surprise you."

Ginny wanted to believe her, but she just couldn't. The old pictures kept appearing to her:

Ron's wife standing up in that crowd of like-minded peers, pointing at Harry, demanding that he be surrendered.

The Slytherins forming the Inquisitorial Squad with that bitch Umbridge.

The Slytherins practically assaulting her House during Quidditch matches.

The Slytherins with their "Potter stinks" badges during the Triwizard Tournament.

The Slytherins referring to Hermione as a mudblood and Ginny's own family as blood traitors.

The Slytherins, more likely than any House to become dark wizards. And for good reason.

Of course there were exceptions. Theodore Nott, according to rumor, would descend into childish vulgarity whenever anyone used his name and "Death Eater" in the same sentence. Daphne's sister was still unconfirmed but Daphne herself was a wonderful human being. So if nothing else, Ginny could believe the stories Ria's sister said about her. There was Professor Snape, and to a much lesser extent Horace Slughorn.

But all the old hurts came to her then: the names she'd been called; the jinxes, hexes and curses thrown her way during class, especially in her last year; the special seminar with Dragovich's emissary and his shitty little study; the knowledge that many Slytherins would have lived through Voldemort's rule with a smug grin—all these things nestled inside of her, roiling like an unstable cauldron, and asked if they could be let go so easily.

But what about Daphne? Couldn't she let go of it due to that alone?

But it wouldn't matter what the answer was to that. It didn't matter at all.

She got up from the chair.  
"Ginny..."

She spun around, suddenly furious. _"Leave me alone! Can't you stop telling me how to live my life for even two seconds?!"_

She wanted an explosion. A fight. Maybe even a duel. But Molly just stared sullenly at her.

" _This might come as a surprise to you mom but you_ don't _know everything! You don't know them! You don't know me! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!"_

She stormed off to her bedroom and got ready for work.

[3]

Covering the game was fine and everything. She was hoping for a close game between the Harpies and Kestrels. Games like that were always extremely tense no matter whom you were rooting for. But it was a blowout instead.

No thanks, of course, to Cormac While the man had a decent record of blocks overall, today he was like a sieve letting all the water through to the other side.

When Kestrel Seeker Patrica Kopkan finally caught the Snitch, the end scores' was 300 to the Harpies' 280.

After the match, she was obviously tasked to go to both Kestrel's male and female lockers. The men were pigs, eyeing her up and down. The females were more tolerable with one of them genuinely asking how Ginny got into journalism.

Of course, as she walked out from the lockers after a getting a few interviews, it occurred to her that it could just be her own—

"Hey." said a voice to her right. She looked.

It was Blaise.

Her good mood vanished, replaced by anger. Not even married, not even dating, and not even getting together to talk about whatever—and here he was, showing up when she's in the middle of working.

"We need to talk." he said.

"Not when I'm working." she said, and kept walking.

He followed her, "Well, I did send you a letter. You never answered back."

She glanced slightly to the right, where he was following her. "Is there some reason I should have?"

"Dear Merlin, Ginny, I know reading is not your family's strong suit, but you always could have asked someone smarter to do it."

"Gent bent, Zabini." she grunted. She was holding her parchment notebook tightly, suddenly possessive of it.

"You think I'm happy about this?" he asked, frowning. "I'm not."

"I don't care what you are."

There were people standing by the locker tents. Fans and groupies and whatever. Most of them were turning to look at the two of them now.

"How do you think the Ministry is going to feel about it?" Blaise asked.

"Screw them."

"I mean if that's what you're into, then fine. I don't judge." he shrugged. "Oh, who am I kidding? Yes I do."

She spun around and drew her wand. "I don't have to stand here and be called a slut by an asshole like you, Zabini!"

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, it's not the worst thing in the world. My mom was like that, so it's something the two of us have in common!"

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it, the surprise and horror as plain on his face as his dark skin.

"You son of a bitch!" she roared and fired a Body-Bind curse at him. He ducked and it went over his head. It struck a piece of the fence circling the Quidditch field, shattering it.

People around them were shouting.

Blaise took out his own wand and used a Shield Charm to block the next curse. It rebounded into the tent behind her, punching a hole through it. Someone inside the tent screamed.

While the match between Ria and Harry was fairly one-sided, Blaise and Ginny were far more evenly matched.

She casted Body Binds, and Leg Lockers, and Stinging Hexes. He casted Stunning Charms and Knockback Jinxes. Occasionally, they both fired a Disarming Charm. None of the spells struck home. She blocked with Shield Charms, while Blaise simply ducked out of the way.

People saw what they were doing. The closest people scattered for distance. When that distance was achieved, many of them turned around to watch.

A spell aimed too low struck the ground in front of Blaise's feet, making it pop as though struck with a bullet. He recoiled back, striking a piece of the fence. Ginny even _saw_ it wobble dangerously, like it was seriously debating whether or not the man should take a long tumble to the bleachers below.

 _What are you doing Ginny,_ a voice came. It was the voice of her mother. Her wand-hand lowered.

Blaise's eyes popped wide and he struggled for balance, arms pinwheeling, one of them smacking painfully against the fence.

He miraculously was able to get balance, and came tumbling forward, landing on his knees. His hands were placed flat on the ground, and Ginny saw he didn't have his wand anymore.

"Expelliarmus!" a voice cried, and the wand flew out of her hand.

She turned. It was an Auror. A pudgy man with glasses who seemed a tad too familiar. She felt the white-hot rage from before, and then it subsided, replaced by confusion. The confusion was soon replaced by fear.

What exactly had she been doing? What the hell had she been thinking? She could've killed someone!

"Ginny?" a familiar voice asked. It came from the left.

Wincing at the sound of it, she turned. Of course it was her brother, and of course beside him was her ex. Both Harry and Ron gaped at her. Ron was worse than shocked. He looked _offended._

"Ginny!" he cried. "What the hell?!"

She'd been asking herself that same question for the past three seconds. She wanted to say that Blaise had antagonized her, insulted her mother. She opened her mouth to say so.

But she looked around. Looked at the Aurors and the bystanders. At the guarded, ready stances of the former. At the frightened expressions of the latter.

And she could say nothing.

Nothingat all.

[4]

The judge who looked like Professor McGonagall obviously wasn't. Her real name was Vera Price. And right now, she was kind of pissed.

"I could send you both to Azkaban." Judge Price said. "Do you realize that?"

The two of them stood behind separate lecterns in front of her, and they remained quiet.

"Mr. Zabini, your probation for the drug Red Ice has ended." Judge Price said. "So I can't tack on extra punishment, nor do I want to."

"Your Honor—"

"Be quiet, please." and all of a sudden, her voice was eerily calm.

Blaise shut up. His mother got like that at times. The calm before the storm, and he had to seize both hands on the lectern to stop from shaking.

"At the same time, that Red Ice charge is still there on your record. It doesn't go away Mr. Zabini. You know what _also_ doesn't go away? Harassment. Following someone when they tell you to leave them alone."

Judge Price turned her attention to Ginny.

"Ms. Weasley, your hands aren't clean either. Firing the first spell is like throwing the first punch. In the world of law that's like burning down your own flat. You could have Apparated to anywhere in England and he wouldn't have been able to follow you. Instead you began a duel, throwing out curses like confetti. If somebody had died... _you_ would be responsible."

Ginny swallowed and said nothing.

"I know that there's bad blood between you two." Price said. "I know that the marriage law of the Ministry didn't help that. And for that I am sorry."

Neither one of them said anything, because there was nothing to say.

"I sentence you both to a week in the county jail." Judge Price said.

And smacked the gavel on the counter.

[5]

Ginny's mother visited her. She thought the woman would scream at her. But she was as calm as before.  
"So are you finally going to start talking to him?"

Her daughter burst into tears. Not because of what Molly said but because Ginny was sick and tired of hiding.

She didn't know what or how much to say.

But in the end, she confessed everything.

[6]

When she was finally done, she looked into her mother's eyes, certain that the woman would yell at her. Be shocked or outraged.

She wasn't either. Molly hugged her daughter. And it didn't last nearly long enough.

[7]

After their sentence was done, they agreed to meet up. At the Burrow of course. With Molly in attendance. Of course.

She asked him how he was. He was fine. He asked her how she was. She was also fine.

Molly gave them tea. They sipped it in silence for a moment.

"I like girls." she blurted out.

Blaise looked at her.

"Okay...?" he said, not getting it at first. There were plenty of girls that he liked too. Then a spark transformed his face. "What...you mean like..."

He did an obscene gesture with his hands that wasn't worth describing. But it did make her blush.

"Yeah Blaise, like that. I'm sorry."

Blaise stared at her, unbelieving.

His next words confused her: "Please tell you _aren't_ joking."

She frowned, puzzled. "What? No I'm not joking Blaise. This is serious."

"You're gay?"

"Yes, Blaise, that's what I'm saying. I know it's disappointing but—"

And that was as far as she got before he erupted in sudden laughter. Surprising her, scaring her a little. He was laughing so hard he fell out of his chair.

"Blaise...what..." she couldn't find words. She looked at her mother, who was just as confused as she was.

"Blaise! Will you get up! This isn't a laughing matter."

But it apparently was. Because he was at it for a good five damn minutes. She timed him. The laughter went from hearty guffaws to sporadic sputters.

At last, he was done. And he slowly got up on trembling limbs. She thought he would fall over. But he finally climbed into the chair, still snickering.

"Oh my Merlin. This. Is. Incredible."

"What is?" Ginny, feeling more than a twinge of that old anger. This was all a joke to him.

Then he spelled it out for her, clapping his hands together with each word:

"I'm gay too you stupid prick!"

And then he was rolling on the floor, laughing again.


	16. Fire V

Fire V

[1]

"I don't understand." Ginny said.

Blaise had gotten back onto the chair. He'd stopped laughing, but the pleased expression hadn't left his face. Her mother had left the room, thinking they needed some privacy now.

"What's to understand Weasley?" Blaise said. "We both know the Ministry of Magic has more idiots than it does rooms."

Ginny couldn't really argue that. Hermione was probably the only person in there with a working brain between her ears. And she had to go through the bureaucracy too.

"But it's good luck, though right?" she said. "Now I don't have any expectations of you and you don't have any of me."

"Do you think it's luck?" he asked.

"Do you?" she asked.

Blaise answered with a shrug. "I really don't know. Everyone talks about how they do compatibility tests but that's obviously horse shit."

"Is it?" Ginny said. "All of our friends are happy so far."

"Not all of them." Blaise said distantly. "Anyways, screw that shitty subject. Let's talk about something good. Who's the lucky girl?"

Ginny turned away from his honest face, stared at her teacup. "I don't know if it's a good idea to say who she is without her consent."

"I get it. You're right. Sorry."  
She looked at him. "I don't supposed you can tell me who the lucky guy is?"

"No. And for the same reason. Last time I was with him, he was a mess."

[2]

Cormac _was_ a mess.

After yelling at Daphne, and after she left the flat, Cormac went to his room.

He sat on the floor, his back leaning on the bed. He sat there for hours, just thinking.

The night with Blaise played back and forth in his mind, making him blush.

He wanted to talk to somebody about it. To talk to anybody about it. But he could obviously not tell his pious parents, least of all his father.

He went to the kitchen. Made a small snack that he only picked at. He went to bed, staying awake for two full hours before sleep finally took him.

He dreamed of Hogwarts.

[3]

The Death Eater standing in the hallway with them fired a Killing Curse. Whether at him or at Romilda Vane, he didn't know, as the green light passed between them with a nearly even amount of distance on either side.

"Damn!" the Death Eater grunted.

Romilda responded with Stunning Charm, which the lady deflected. Then a Disarming Charm from Cormac, which was also blocked. She answered with another Killing Curse. This went high over their heads.

The Death Eater was exasperated. "What the hell, how did I miss?"

Romilda cast the Body Bind curse, and perhaps the dumb bitch was too busy complaining about her poor aim to either block or dodge. She was immediately fixed in place, and fell over like a toppled statue.

"Idiot." Cormac grunted.

"That was, like, a close one."

It actually hadn't been at all close, but what was the point in arguing something like that now?

"We have to keep going." he said instead. "The third floor isn't cleared yet."

Romilda looked at him. She had a cut across her cheek and her lip was torn and she'd lost one of her pinky fingers. "You're really, like, brave. You know that?"

Under normal circumstances he would have had a good monologue at her. But these weren't normal circumstances.

"Sure." he said flatly.

She put her hand on his shoulder, giving him a genuine smile. "I mean it Cormac. You're, like, a pretty cool guy."

"Of course I am." he said mechanically. "I'm a beast."

"Damn right you are." Romilda said, and he knew immediately that she would try to kiss him. If not now, then soon, after the battle was over.

He was flattered by the thought, and nothing more. He tried to tell himself that it was just because she wasn't that pretty. Or she wasn't his type. Or something like that.

At the end of the third floor was what would have been a dead end under normal circumstances. Under current circumstances there was a gaping hole in the wall that had also knocked over a suit of armor and dislodged a painting of whoever.

As they neared the hole two Death Eaters came through it. But they looked left instead of right, and so the pair stunned the two morons without any difficulty.

Seconds passed. No more enemies came through. They turned.

In front of them was a dark-skinned Slytherin. The pair immediately frowned, and Cormac actually pointed his wand at him.

Instantly the Snake brought his wand up and cast a nonverbal spell before either of them could react.

They flinched, Romilda's wand firing a Stunning Charm into the floor. But the curse aimed their way instead passed through them.

Someone behind them screamed out.

Gritting his teeth, Cormac aimed his wand at the Snake.

"Cormac wait!" Romilda shouted.

He waited. Looked at her. She pointed to the end of the corridor. A Death Eater was lying Body Bound on the floor.

"Like, thank you." Romilda said.

The Slytherin nodded and said nothing. Cormac stared at him. Suddenly, he realized he was sweating, though Merlin only knew why. It was fall, and it was damned cold out, even with all the exertion he'd been doing.

The Slytherin turned and ran back to the main hall.

Someone whispered: "He was kinda cute."

He turned at Romilda, thinking she had said it. The voice sounded masculine, and quite familiar, but he was sure it had to be her.

But then she turned to him and asked: "What? Did you say something?"

His eyes widened, and he looked away. _Had_ he said something?

Cormac and Romilda decided to stay put and defend.

About many more Death Eaters came through the gaping hole in the wall throughout the night. Most of them floating in either by powerful magic (that also made them clouds of black smoke) or the weaker ones by broomstick.

Cormac and Romilda defeated them all. The hardest part was when four came through at the same time. But Cormac was on one side of the hole, Romilda on the other.

They, of course, had no idea how important it was to defend this single hole in a castle that was now full of them. No idea of the Death Eater's plan to sneak in front this more remote hole and trickle in numbers this way, until Hogwarts was overrun.

All they knew was that twenty of the idiots came through the hole. But not a single one of them made it through the pair.

Not one.

And after the battle, she did kiss him and he kissed her back. The sparks that his father insisted that he would feel did not come.

They went some place private.

The Slytherin who saved them in the hallway was already gone from his mind and Cormac from his. They would not meet each other again for a few years. So they could have been strangers meeting for the very first time.

[4]

"I don't, like, understand Cory!"

Romilda Vane stood in front of him in tears. They were in the Vane kitchen. Romilda's parents were upstairs in the bedroom, with the door shut. They were not making love. They were giving the two of them privacy.

"There's nothing to understand." he said dully. "I'm breaking up with you. It's simple."

 _So simple even you should be able to understand it,_ he thought savagely.

"But...but what did I, like, do?" she gestured frantically with her hands. "Did I, like, say something bitchy to you?"

"No."

"Is it because I, like, bought that dress that you hated?"

He looked at her like she was insane. "No, of course not."

"Then, like, what is it?!" she cried shrilly.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. He had no idea; only that it had to be done.

"Are there, like, other women?" she asked.

"Yes." he said. The lie came easily enough. He'd lied about it throughout the Hogwarts years. His sexual conquests. They had all been lies and most everyone had been smart enough to see through it.

"How many?" she asked.

Romilda Vane wasn't particularly smart though. She considered him a "real panther" or something stupid like that.

When he started lying about the women, to her, he started feeling a bit better. Quite a lot better. A "persona," the theater people called it. It was like a mask or costume he could put on to avoid exposing bare flesh to the outside world.

"Too many to count Romilda." Cormac said, and by some miracle he managed a smile. Not a guilty grin that was nearly a grimace. But a genuine, "aw shucks, did I do that?" cheeser of a smile.

All of a sudden, Romilda wasn't crying. She just had that mortally wounded look on her face. One of self-reflection. She was wondering just what else had she been expecting from a pig-jock.

When she spoke, her voice didn't crack. She didn't sound miserable or even angry.

"Get the fuck out of my house."

[5]

Sleep was thin and he kept waking up during the night.

When he woke up for good, it was eight in the morning.

He turned to his left, trying to get back to sleep.

Blaise Zabini stood in front of him, wearing nothing but a blanket around his waist.

"Shit!" he screamed and scrambled to the other side of the bed until he fell off, smacking his head on the floor.

When he stood up, rubbing his smarting head, the room was empty. He was the only one there.

"Merlin..." he grunted.

He made himself a light breakfast. Blaise was sitting at the kitchen table, smiling at him.

"Damn it." he said, and wiped his eyes.

When he went to sit down at the table to eat, he didn't see anything.

But when he went to go watch TV, the reflection in the dark screen revealed Blaise standing behind the couch, smirking.

He whipped around, obviously seeing nothing. "Stop it!"

He was only able to stand the TV for about three minutes. Then he turned it off and tried going back to sleep.

When he opened the door to the bedroom, Blaise was in the covers.

"Christ." Cormac grunted.

Once under the covers, he still couldn't go back to sleep. He felt he was on a precipice, struggling to find balance that wouldn't come. The world was thick and silent.

He thought of his dad, instructing him that woman were fragile, pathetic creatures. All of them needed men in their lives, whether they realized it or not. Even the male-hating feminists, all they needed was a strong man to take control of them.

He was the "I'm king of my castle" type. He made all the decisions, where they would eat, what groceries they would buy, what school Cormac would go to, and the like. Dorothy McLaggen wasn't allowed to have a full-time job of her own—what need did she have of that when Drake was bringing home the bacon?

And because Drake McLaggen felt all women needed men, as a result he never tied himself down with one. After all, good things were meant to be shared with the world, not hoarded out of greed.

That was even the case with ones that he married, like Cormac's mother. According to Drake, Cormac had at least eight half-siblings, though he knew none of their names.

Eventually his mother found out; she'd put her foot down. It was the only time Cormac had ever seen her do it.

"How dare you!" his mother screamed.

Much like Cormac and Romilda a decade in the future, the two of them were arguing in the kitchen.

"Be quiet, Dorothy." he said. He was smirking.

"How could you do such a thing to me?"

"C'mon, Dorothy be reasonable. Why do you feel you need to have me all to yourself?"

Dorothy had an incredulous look on her face. For a moment, she couldn't speak. And when she could, it came out in sporadic stutters.

"I-you-all-I. All to _myself_?"

She took a deep breath. "How would you like that if I did that to you?"

"You wouldn't." he said simply. His smirk was gone and now he looked insulted. "That's not something you get to decide."

He marched toward her, placed his hands roughly on her shoulder.

There was a flash of red light that half-blinded Cormac. When he was properly able to see, his father was flat on his back on the kitchen floor.

Dorothy took Cormac and fled.

[6]

There was a custody battle that neither of them won.

So Cormac spent three months with one and then three months with the other. And so on.

So half the time, he was instructed that women were to be servants, and the other half he wasn't being instructed any way at all. His mother was depressed afterwards, perhaps wondering what else she expected from a pig-jock.

She tried killing herself twice. And after that Cormac only lived with his father.

[7]

Cormac had listened to his father almost completely.

And now here he was in bed alone. No real friends. An assorted of women that thought he had a pair of testicles where his brain was supposed to be. A mother in a mental ward. A father dead from an illegal duel. A fiancé that hated him. And...

And...

He closed his eyes, and images of Blaise Zabini danced in the darkness.

"And I like men." he whispered to the dimly lit bedroom.

[8]

He knocked on the front door to the Greengrass house.

Ms. Greengrass answered the door. She didn't look too happy to see him. He lowered his gaze to his shoes

"Daphne isn't here."

"Please, I need to see her." Cormac begged.

Ms. Greengrass began to close the door.

Cormac looked at her, and what she saw on his face stopped her cold. "Please, I just need to tell her the truth. Then I will go away. I promise."

And she let him in, guided him to the kitchen. It was funny how all these dramatic events happened in the kitchen.

Daphne came in, wearing an undershirt and gym shorts. She sat down on the chair opposite him. She had her wand in her hand.

"What is it Cormac?" Daphne said guardedly.

"I've got to tell the truth." he said.

"Finally."

"I've been with someone."

"And today is Sunday."

He rubbed his hands impatiently over his head. "No, hold on a second."

"Was she Chinese this time? Or Brazilian?"

" _She_ was black...and..." Cormac felt the scales tipping, and his body tipping with it. This was actually hurting him. His lungs wouldn't work.

"She..." he forced the words out. "...wasn't...really...a _she_."

A long awful pause.

"What?" Daphne asked.

"She wasn't a she." Cormac said again, with no less effort than before.

He put his head on the table. He couldn't look at her. "She was a guy, Daphne. _He_ was a guy. I made love to a guy...because...I like guys."

She didn't answer for a long time.

"You like guys?" she asked.

He nodded.

"You mean like..." she did an obscene gesture with her hands that wasn't worth describing. But it did make him blush.

"You're gay?" she asked.

He gave her a quick nod, still refusing to look at her.

"You're fabulous?"

Another quick nod. His face was burning.  
"You're part of the rainbow?"

"Christ, Daphne how many different ways do you want to say it?!"

Suddenly, she began to laugh. And it was much like Ginny and Blaise in the Burrow kitchen.

The difference was Cormac was silly enough to think that she had snapped. All the shit he'd put her through recently, and now he'd dropped this Reducto on her and now she'd lost her mind for good.

When she finally stopped laughing, Cormac stared at her, confused and more than a little frightened.

"That's fine."

"What?"

"What you did is perfectly fine."

"But-but we're engaged."

"I don't even remotely care." she said, grinning. And that grin...it was the happiest that he had ever seen her.

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because..." she stood up and dramatically stretched her arms out to both sides. " _I_ am a lesbian, you idiot!"

"Say what now?"

"I like girls."

"You mean like—"

"Yes, Cormac, I just said it. I'm gay and so are you. Isn't the government a wonderful thing?"

Cormac leaned in his chair. "I don't believe it." But from his tone, it was clear that he did. And he sounded more than a little grateful.

"Who's the lucky guy?"

"Some guy named Blaise Zabini."

Only when the words were out did he realize he'd made a mistake. He didn't know of Blaise was still in the closet or not but—

Daphne started laughing again, smacking her hand on the table and wiping tears out of her eyes.

"What's so funny?"

"Tall, African-British, kind of a smart-ass..." Daphne said. "That sound about right?"

Cormac was puzzled. "Yeah but how—"

"Blaise Zabini is a Slytherin."

Cormac's jaw dropped.

Daphne said, "I was talking to him a few days ago. Said he hooked up with a guy. Said he was still in the closet and kind of a basket case."

"I...but..." Cormac trailed away. But Daphne was too busy snickering to herself.

Then the stupidity of the whole thing struck him.

And then Cormac started laughing too.

[9]

A week later, the four of them got together. And they came to an understanding.


	17. Fire End

Fire End

[1]

"So..." Cormac began uncertainly. Blaise looked at him.

They were in Cormac's flat, sitting on the couch. Ginny and Daphne had already left.

"How do we do this?"

"How do we do what?" Blaise asked. "Watching TV?"

They were watching Tom and Jerry.

"You know, dating." Cormac asked. "How do guys, you know, date?"

Blaise gave him a funny look. Cormac was gesturing uselessly.

"Well..." Blaise began, smirking. "There's an initiation."

"Really?"

"Yeah, like a club."

"You mean like that club we were in?" Cormac asked.

Blaise had to stifle a laugh. Instead he merely smirked. "Kind of but this one is more like a fraternity."

"A fraternity?"

Blaise gauged the look on his face. He looked like he was buying it. "Yeah, it's called Pi Pi Pi."

"Pi Pi Pi." Cormac repeated.

"Yeah, or Triple Pi for short."

"I thought about joining a fraternity once I got into college, but I never made it." Cormac said. "What does Pi Pi Pi do?"

Blaise shrugged his shoulders. "Typical stuff, you know."

"Like what?"

"Like sailing boats."

Cormac raised an eyebrow. "Boats?"

"Yep we sail the shit out of them. I've got one too, you know."

"Really?"

Cormac looked like he was believing every word. Blaise could only barely stifle his laughter. He tried to look straight ahead at the TV and manage it that way. At least if he laughed he could blame it on Tom taking a pie to the face.

"Yep, and we fly the rainbow flag."

Cormac turned to Blaise, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"Not at all." Blaise said. He was trying so hard not to grin and so a grimace was plastered over his face instead. "It goes well with the rainbow-pattern sailor uniforms we have on."

"You're full of shit Zabini!" Cormac cried out, and Zabini was doubled over, sputtering laughter.

"What's next?" Cormac asked, grinning himself. "Are you going to tell me about the phallic shape of the boat?"

"I was going to break it to you gently." he said, inching over to Cormac.

" _Gently_ he says."

Blaise was leaning up against him now. "And we meet other rainbow boats in the ocean and it gets pretty nasty."

"Shut up, for the sake of Merlin." But of course Cormac wasn't getting angry. He was enjoying all of it.

Blaise put his arms around him. "It's all true."

"Is not." And he turned his head away.

"Is too." Blaise kissed him on the cheek.

"Is not." Cormac weakly batted at him.

"Is too." he nibbled Cormac on the ear.

Cormac's defenses fell one after the other.

And in the end, it didn't matter at all if it was or wasn't.

[2]

The marriage of Blaise and Ginny was first and it was quite memorable.

Their marriage was a week after Harry and Ria's.

Ginny wore her mother's dress with fetching red and gold trim. Blaise bought a new suit, with House colors, custom fit for him.

When Mr. Weasley gave her away, Blaise winked at her. She began to giggle.

They held hands.

"Stop it." Blaise whispered, except he was almost giggling too.

"I can't help it."

"Your dress looks nice."

"Thank you Blaise."

"Daphne will love it."

She laughed, covering her mouth. People noticed. Obviously the Weasleys noticed. They all knew. She heard some of them snickering too.

"Stop it, Blaise. You are such an asshole."

"I'm just saying it's a real chick magnet."

She managed to stifle her laughter. Barely.

"Husband, please. You are _killing_ me here. I am dying. You are murdering me in cold blood."

"Okay." Blaise sighed with false weariness. "Okay. My bad. I can't do such a thing on our wedding day."

They made it up the aisle, cracking jokes the entire time. The priest at the end looked at them with puzzlement and more than a little bit of annoyance. It didn't help that they were sniggering through his monologue. He didn't go to divinity school to have to deal with this.

Then came the vows, and this had to be serious business. They both agreed on it.

But it didn't turn out like that.

And Blaise didn't help.

"I, Blaise Zabini, promise to have and to hold my beautiful wife. Until death do us part. And remain _entirely_ faithful to her. Only to her. And to nobody else. Nobody at all. Absolutely zero people. Nada. Zilch. Cero. And she feels likewise. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

The Weasleys were cracking up in the back. People were looking at them like they were insane. Of course there were exceptions. Pansy was giggling too. So was Hermione. So was Lavender. So was Ria. And while Luna Longbottom didn't laugh, she had a broad grin on her face.

"Objection." Ginny whispered.

"Overruled." Blaise whispered back.

The priest was annoyed. "People, please. This is a serious event. Show some respect. This is a sacred institution."

Blaise turned to his audience, and he had a dramatic frown on his face. "Yeah, people. I'm pouring my guts out to this lady. You can't see them all over the floor? Show some respect for this sacred institution."

And that brought Bill and Ron to the floor. Blaise sighed. Sometimes, he just didn't know his own strength.

[3]

Blaise thought she kissed pretty well.

For a girl, anyway.

Molly made the wedding cake, as she had for Ron and Pansy.

The two of them cut the wedding cake together.

[4]

Harry arrived late to the party. Which was fine because Ginny didn't think he would show up at all. Ron told him. Ginny wasn't angry at him for it. He had to. They were best friends.

She was overlooking the small pond near the ceremony. There were people nearby, but she was mostly by herself. Which was fine.

"Hey, Ginny." he said awkwardly.

"Hey, Harry how have you been? Are you...okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

He didn't look at her for a moment, and she thought he would just drift away and start talking to somebody else.

Suddenly, he looked at her. "Can I be honest with you?"

She wasn't sure how to answer. At least not verbally. But she nodded, hoping there wouldn't be a scene.

"I'm glad I only found out now, you know?"

"Sure." she said.

"Because I don't know how I would have taken it you know...back then." he laughed nervously. "You know how I get."

"Yes, we all do."

He glanced over his shoulder. Glanced over at Ria, whom was engaging in pleasant conversation with Bill.

Harry looked at her again, and now he was smiling brightly. "But that doesn't matter now."

"No it doesn't." she agreed. And she was happy to say so.

"Hey, I got you something."

He waved his wand and a present materialized out of thin air. She knew immediately from its shape that it was a broomstick. A damn good one, if the bristles on the business end were any indication.  
"Oh Harry, it's awesome!"

"Yeah." Harry scratched his neck. "I know you love Quidditch as much as I do. I was in Diagon Alley today and I was like, 'what the hell?' "

"Harry!" Ria called out. "Harry, guess what Bill was riding last week!"

"Duty calls."

"Go to her." she said. She made a quaint shooing gesture with her hands. "She's wonderful. Don't waste any more time with me."

There was a lot in that last sentence that she didn't want to think about.

"She scares me sometimes." he said.

Ginny kept her smile up. "What? She's wearing you out in the bedroom?"

"No." Harry said, and the look on his face made her stop smiling.

"But anyway," he said, "Good luck. Happy life, okay?"

"Yeah, Harry. You too."

They shared a chaste hug, that of acquaintances but nothing more.

Then he drifted away and began talking to somebody else, and not just anybody else...but his wife.

She went over to talk to Lavender and Theo.

Eventually, she realized she'd forgotten to tell Harry thank you. But she asked Lavender and he and his wife were already gone.

"You're not angry about it, are you?" Lav asked. She was beautiful in her pink bridesmaid dress and her scar was barely there. She didn't bother with the medical patches anymore.

"No, not really." Ginny said serenely.

"Good," Lavender said. "You've got to avoid thinking like that. It will attract the Nargles."

She and Ginny looked at one another. Then they burst out into laughter. They went to go find Luna and Neville.

And it was true. She didn't have any resentment towards either of them for it. For better or for worse, this was their relationship now, gift or no gift. They were not friends. She had left him and slept with somebody else, while he was left wondering what he had done wrong. It was hard to "just be friends" after something like that.

But they didn't have to be enemies. That was the important thing.

[5]

After it was done, they went to Blaise's flat and laid on the couch, picking at their dinner. Even if they were straight, there wouldn't have been love-making that night. They were exhausted.

"I'm sorry your mom couldn't make it." she said.

"Don't be." Blaise answered. His tone was like steel, completely different from anything she'd heard from him before. She let the subject drop.

"You don't have to take my surname, you know." Blaise said out of the blue.

"Are we still talking about this?"

Blaise shrugged. "I'm just saying—"

"Yes you are always _just saying_ something. Stop talking for once. You're a cool guy, Blaise. A damn good friend. Let's leave it at that. Besides, 'Weasley-Zabini' sounds good to me."

And even though Blaise didn't say anything about that, his smile was good enough.

They just sat there, cracking jokes, nipping at dinner, and enjoying being friends as they waited for tomorrow.

[6]

Cormac and Daphne were married the following day, Sunday. Just like Daphne had suspected, the ceremony was small. Her Slytherin friends had shown up. But Cormac didn't have any friends in his House. She apologized to him for it. He said that it was fine, he could make friends in the future.

At least he hoped so.

Their vows done, they kissed chastely. They had a good talk with the Slytherins at the wedding party. Their faces were completely straight, with no hint of humor. It was easy. It was all about the persona.

They finally left. It was well into night.

They Apparated to Blaise's flat. They both began laughing. They were at it for some time and Blaise and Ginny let them have it.

Finally, Cormac yawned. "Holy shit I am tired."

Smiling, not saying anything, Ginny took Daphne Greengrass-McLaggen's hand. They kissed.

Blaise made retching noises. The two of them flipped him the bird. Then disappeared.

Cormac laid on the couch next to Blaise, leaned on him. After a few minutes, rested his head on Blaise's lap.

"You aren't _too_ tired are you Mac?" Blaise teased.

When he didn't receive an answer, he looked down. Cormac had already fallen asleep.

And that was just fine.


	18. The Assigner

Epilogue: The Assigner

The man wearing nothing but boxers and gym shorts was vaping a box mod.

"The Wheel of Fate is turning." he whispered.

He was near-sighted and wore thick Ted Baker glasses. His hair was always short, even though he never had it cut. He was impossibly old, but from outside appearances he seemed in his mid-20s.

He hit the button on the mod and breathed in. The flavor was Fresh to Death, from The Machine Shop. He breathed out. The setting was 50 watts, which was too mild for most but perfect for him.

In front of him was an immense wall that was 60 square feet. He stared at the magic whiteboard in front of him. It was showing feeds from all over. And the feeds showed him that all was as it should be.

Ron and Pansy were goofing off in the United States again, in a hotel.

"I think this room has rodents." he said to the thoroughly annoyed maid standing at the door. Ron was huddled under the covers.

Pansy crawled from the bed to a chair in the middle of the room, balling herself up behind it. She could still plainly be seen.

"I just saw it!" Ron cried fearfully.

The man with the box mod laughed.

Draco and Hermione were playing wizard's chess and talking about the state of the Ministry.

"Bunch of complete, bloody idiots." she said. "Carmichael thinks he can run the Department of Records all around with his excuses. Of course...doesn't help that the Head is just letting him do it."

"Why don't you run for Minster of Magic?"

"I told them both that—"

She stopped. Looked up at Draco, whom was keeping his head down, looking at the pieces, and trying to figure out his next five moves.

"What did you say, Draco?"

"You heard me." he stated. "Why don't—"

Theo and Lavender were making love.

Harry and Ria were making love.

Neville and Luna were planting some botanical shit in their fields on their farm.

Cormac had yet another Quidditch game, this one yet again saw them in opposition to the Harpies. He nearly did another blockade, but a single Quaffle went through, to the cheering of the Harpy audience. He favored them with a modest "Well, what can you do?" shrug.

Blaise was working overtime at Gringotts.

Daphne and Ginny were eating dinner at an Italian restaurant. The pizza was good but the service was extremely bad. Their first waitress disappeared, and they had to flag down another.

"People are staring at us." Daphne said.

Ginny looked around and, yes, some people were glancing over their way. But it could be for any reason.

"Let them stare." Ginny said. "We aren't doing anything except eating dinner."

The feeds had no source. There were no animals giving him the information.

It was because the feeds were unstuck in time. Just like he was.

[2]

He blinked and suddenly the feeds were from two years later.

Draco and Hermione were celebrating the second birthday of Rose Malfoy. Rose didn't wait for anyone to cut the cake for her. She dunked her hand in and went to town, making all in attendance laugh their asses off.

Harry and Ria were visiting the grave of Professor Snape. He had been buried next to Harry's parents. As the man watched, Harry left a gorgeous arrangement of flowers on it. Ria said something and Harry hugged her.

Daphne was interviewing a 10 year old kid. He was nervous even though she told him not to be.

"Do you like to play indoors or outdoors?"

"Out."

"Would you say you are brave or would you say clever?"

"Neither."

Daphne laughed, putting the boy a little at ease.

"What's your favorite animal?"

She expected a predator, like a lion, or a wolf, or even a dragon. But the kid surprised her.

The kid blushed. "I don't really like things with fangs. I like, you know, pretty things. Like fireflies or phoenixes."

"Things that shine?" she asked, smiling broadly.

The boy nodded.

She wrote down in her notebook: _Possible unicorn core._

Blaise was reading a book and thinking about adoption.

Cormac was sitting in a locker room, waiting for a game to start, and thinking about adoption.

Ron and Pansy were celebrating the three-year birthday of Arthur Jr. "Art," as he was called, completely ignored the cake and began eating the salad with his hands.

"Maybe we should have called him Rabbit instead." he said, and the Weasleys around him laughed.

Neville and Luna were making love.

Harry and Ria were in Godric's Hollow. They were standing in front of the graves of James and Lily Potter...and Professor Severus Snape, who had died of Nagini's poison a year after Harry and Ria were married. As the man with the box mod watched, Harry put a flower on each one.

"I love you all." Harry said quietly. Ria squeezed his hand.

"We need to be there for Teddy." he said.

"We will." Ria said.

George and Millicent were in a Hogsmeade tavern and drunkenly singing.

" _I thought I heard the old man say..."_ George bellowed.

" _Leave her Johnny! Leave her!"_ Millicent crowed.

The drunks around them cheered, most of them tapping their feet to provide the rhythm.

" _Tomorrow ye get will yer pay..."_

" _And it's time fer us to leave her!"_

Ginny was writing an article on the growing anti-purity/pro-Muggle born movement. It seemingly had no headquarters, no place of concentration or focus. It was headed by a person known only as "The Witness." The Auror department of the Ministry was desperately trying to quell it without making it obvious that it was what they were doing.

But they couldn't afford to ignore it completely. Antisemitism in early 20th century Europe was ignored until it was too late. Pure-blood supremacy was ignored until it was too late.  
Except, on this particular subject, it was already too late. Much too late.

"The Wheel of Fate turns and turns." the man said.

[3]

The man blinked and he was back in the present. Or what he took for the present.

"Now, who's left?" he asked, to no one in particular. And even the empty air knew the answer to that. Millicent Burtrude or whatever her name was given the living Weasley twin. She was thick but not repulsive and the living twin actually liked them that way. And she liked redheads, even though she wouldn't admit it.

There was one good reason that he paired so many Slytherins with so many Gryffindors.

What he said to the Minister of Magic was something along the lines of this:

The idea was that there was no better lesson than having the living counterpoint fall asleep next to you each night.

Parkinson was given the youngest Weasley boy. Because they were both pretty social, but also complete basket cases that said the worst thing at the worst opportunity. Also because they both represented a reversal in fortunes.

Parkinson had gone from a princess with connections to a pauper that would be starving in the street if not for the charity of those she had insulted. The youngest Weasley, though not rich was still much wealthier than he had ever been as a kid. People liked him, admired his bravery, and he knew his family loved him. The awful phantom images from the horcrux he's slain was always far away from his mind.

Granger was given Malfoy. But the Malfoy boy had learned the lesson of humility long before he even hit his head on the fireplace in the Burrow. To make the humility stick, the idiotic fool—once stampeding all over the place about the "Mudbloods"—now had one as his wife and lover. He worshiped the ground she walked on and they both knew it.

She in turn, had two choices: either hold on to the resentment or let it go.

The only Weasley daughter and the elder Greengrass had been given Zabini and McLaggen. Of course, he'd known from the "beginning" that they were all homosexuals. Just as he'd known he would pair each with the lover of the other.

And both marriages had been quite funny to watch.

Brown had been given Nott because they both had terrible darkness inside of them. Brown's darkness was known by others, especially herself. Nott's was...not. He had little idea of the atrocities he was capable of.

"Ria" had been given Potter. Another living contradiction, at least for him. Snape was a good man, but was still a bully that gave in to his worst desires, even by his own admission. Slughorn was no wizard-Nazi but still fell prey to the beliefs of _many_ in the wizarding world: that Muggle-borns were perhaps not as magically powerful as the halfs or the pures. Neither of those things had been lost on Potter, whom really hadn't expected someone like Greengrass in Slytherin, just like he wouldn't expect his son.

She, in turn, discovered the man behind the legend. No faultless god but a simple man, short-tempered and prone to acting long before he thought—the same skills that made him a genius at magical combat, able to duel formidable dark wizards and come out on top.

But even all those things listed above were not the reasons he had made those assignments. Not the _real_ reason. And there was only one.

Wheel of Fate had decided it. Had decided all of it. Not him.

There were still a few left from Hogwarts. A few stragglers, as the saying went. There were the Patil twins, neither of whom would be paired with Slytherins or anyone else from Hogwarts for that matter.

But that was for later.

Right now, everything was fine. Everything was as it should be. He did not feel pride in the results. He had seen the results "before," and he had been proud "then."

[4]

He blinked and he was a few months in "the future."

Nobody was busy. Nobody was making love. Whether reclining in a couch, or lying in bed, or sitting in lawn chairs, each person was simply with the person that they loved.

For one of the few moments in his impossibly long life, he felt just a hint of sadness. The Third Wizarding War was only two decades away. It would be caused by the Equalists. And the face of its leader would be familiar to all of them. Sometimes, he wanted to stop it.

The doubt cleared away from his mind. He was happy. There was no stopping it. What must be must be. The Wheel of Fate turned. It was the will of God.

And that was just fine.

[5]

Ria Potter gave birth to her only daughter in 2007. The doctors said her genetic weakness would not allow for more than that. The next would kill her long before she went into labor.

They were, of course, completely wrong. But the man saw no point in telling anyone that.

Only Draco and Hermione and Daphne were able to make it. They welcomed Ria's daughter into the new world.

"Merlin, Ria," Hermione said with complete pride, tears in her eyes. "Your baby is beautiful. Simply beautiful."

The man with the box mod agreed.

"What is her name?" Draco asked, smiling.

"We really aren't sure." Ria said, shrugging her shoulder as much as she dared with a baby in her hands. "Are we Harry?"

Harry Potter had continued growing a bit, and maturing even more over the years. While he was still vicious to those who assaulted others, he'd developed a sense of patience that seemed almost alien to those who saw it.

"Nope. No idea." he agreed sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, which had someone grown even messier. He'd lost much—though not all—of the anger he'd been bottling within his since childhood.

The man laughed at the thought of it. How painfully idiotic humans could be. How shallow, how capable of ignorant cruelty.

And yet, at the same time, they could be capable of so much love. So much courage.

So much magic.

[6]

Eventually they gave Ria time to herself, and to the treatment of doctors, who eventually went away as well. Harry was outside the maternity ward, talking to Draco. The feed came from a close wall with a sign pointing in the direction of the ward.

"She's absolutely perfect." Draco said, "No way she's related to you, Potter."

Harry snickered. "This day is so great that not even you can mess it up, Malfoy."

"Isn't it wonderful, how everything turned out?" Draco's grin was fading. "It's so perfect, it's almost like a dream."

For a moment, he was his old frightened self, afraid of the future. "Potter, what if it is a dream? What if none of this is really happening. What if we're still in Hogwarts right now? What if we're still enemies and Riddle is still alive?"  
Harry put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, mate." Harry said. "This is no dream. It's all real and everything's going to be fine."

"I don't know. It's just...those anti-blood purity protests." Draco said. "Some of them have become riots, you know."

"I know."

"And I've heard some people have died." Draco swallowed audibly.

"Yeah, Ron and me have been arresting a quite a few of them." Harry's smile was also gone. "Potter, the 'Muggle-born traitor' they call me."

The man with the box mod knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if people ever learned anything.

"It's like some twisted karma." Draco grimaced as he thought of the past. "Everything we've done is now coming back to bite us right in the cu—"

"Malfoy, shut up." Harry's hands had balled up into fists. "Are you going to beat yourself up about this forever? You were a complete ass, fine. You never hurt anyone. It's in the past. It's done. _Let_ it be done."

Draco regarded his words in silence. And the man with the box mod knew what he was thinking. He was thinking about his Slytherin friends, but not just them. He was thinking of all the pure-bloods, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but not just them. He was thinking of all those associated with them, and how they would be targets too.

Like his wife. Like his daughter. Like his infant son.

Harry said: "I've got to tell you that whoever their ass of a leader is hasn't made a broadcast in a few months. The whole thing could be blowing over."

Draco didn't respond.

"You believe what I'm saying, Malfoy?"

"Sure."

But the man with the box mod looked into Draco Malfoy's eyes and could tell he didn't believe it at all.

[7]

The man with the box mod was watching Ria again.

Her newborn started to cry.

"Hush, baby it's alright." Ria cooed. And the baby quieted some. Against the wishes of the doctor, Ria gave her milk. The baby fed while Ria thought of names. It took her a long time. Of course, the man with the box mod knew exactly why: she didn't know whether to come up with something completely fresh or honor the dead or do a little bit of both.

When one finally came, the baby had already finished and was fast asleep.

"I've got it." she whispered.

She stared lovingly at her child as she slept. "There's a lot of bad people in this world, my sweet thing. A lot of hatred. A lot of people who consider themselves above others. But it will be dealt with. Because _everyone_ on this planet can do magic. Every person. We'll make it happen. I believe that. And a lot of people agree."

Her face seemed to transform as she spoke. From a sweet, loving mother into something that was truly eldritch. She didn't look like a person anymore.

Her daughter must have picked up on what was happening, because she woke up and began to cry.

"That's okay." Ria said, smiling gently, almost looking normal. "Mommy will protect you. Mommy will always protect you. Mommy will show you the way. You and Daddy."

The baby continued to cry. Her mother continued to smile.

"I love you, Delphi." she said. "I really do."

Now the man smiled.

The Wheel of Fate turned and turned.

And it always came back around to the same spot yet again.

THANKS EVERYONE FOR READING


End file.
